


Harry Potter and the Unexpected Public School

by ThePlotMechanic



Series: Outside Context Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossunder, Gen, Stealth Crossover, Wow there are a lot of tags I could use.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlotMechanic/pseuds/ThePlotMechanic
Summary: After Harry Potter defeats the basilisk (and Tom Riddle AGAIN), he expects his third year to be much less exciting, even if he does have a maniac out for his blood.But before his third year begins, he and some of his classmates receive an offer that will change _everything_.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Series: Outside Context Potter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919308
Comments: 58
Kudos: 100





	1. Prologue

The Hogsmeade Garage

In association with

TCS Productions, Ltd

Presents

Harry Potter and the Unexpected Public School

Conceived, Written, & Edited by

The Plot Mechanic

* * *

<< "Prologue", Electric Light Orchestra >>

19 June 1993

King's Cross Station, London

" _Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you did this year?"_

_"Proud?" said Harry. "Are you crazy? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious …"_

_And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world._

(Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, page 341)

Hermione watched her friend walk up to his massive uncle with a mixture of sadness and concern. While she was too far to make out what the man was saying, his red face suggested that it likely wasn't pleasant. Not for the first time, she wondered if there was anything she could do about it.

"Hermione! Over here!"

She turned and saw her parents walking towards her, accompanied by an attractive young woman wearing a somewhat formal blue blazer & skirt combination, an old-fashioned string bow accenting the white shirt underneath.

She snorted to herself. Compared to wizard fashions, the ensemble was practically modern. Further thoughts along those lines were interrupted by her mother's fierce hug. In the back of her mind, she could hear Harry remark "I always wondered where you got that habit from.."

"Are you OK, sweetheart? We heard about what happened at the school," her mother asked, after releasing her and giving her lungs a chance to fill again.

"Y-y-you know? I didn't know Professor Dumbledore had informed you."

"Dumbledore" her father responded, glaring at the barrier to Platform 9-3/4, "didn't tell us a thing. Thankfully, Ms. Lippitt here alerted us to what happened."

"It was my pleasure, Dr. Granger." the woman, apparently named Lippitt, replied.

"Do you have a child at the school? " Hermione asked, eyes narrowing. "I don't know any student by that name. How did you find out about it? Were you involved?"

"Hermione!" her mother scolded, "Be polite!"

Ms. Lippitt smiled, "Relax, Hermione. No, I don't have a child at Hogwarts. I knew about the basilisk via… other means."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, as her parents led her away from the station.

"My associates and I represent an institute of higher education…". Lippitt paused, a slight smile on her face, "in more ways than one. We feel that the wizarding world is not doing a sufficient job preparing their offspring for the real world, particularly those children of mundane origins."

"You mean the muggle-born?" Hermione asked.

Lippitt frowned. "We don't like that term. It's horribly childish, really. Mundane is at least lexically accurate. In any case, we think we can do a better job, and after this year's events at Hogwarts, we've decided to approach the families of the victims to see if they would like to join our pilot project,"

She pointed across the concourse, where a tall figure with graying hair was talking to the Creeveys, "Young Colin and his brother have already joined, and the Headmaster has a meeting with the Finch-Fletchlys tomorrow. You and one Penelope Clearwater are the only other candidates remaining. Do you happen to know when she will be exiting?"

Hermione paused, mind casting back. "I think I saw her with Percy Weasley. Ginny said they were dating, so he might have taken her to meet his family."

"The Weasleys…" Ms. Lippitt murmured. "Ah well, perhaps later. In any case, I'm here today to offer you a place in the founding class of St. Lucien's Academy."

"And we've accepted the offer," Hermione's father interjected.

"Dad!" Hermione shouted. "What about Hogwarts? What about Ha-… my friends?"

Her parents glanced at each other, before her father continued, "Pumpkin, we want what's best for you. Giant trolls, possessed teachers, and a giant snake putting children into comas definitely isn't it."

Hermione stopped and glanced back at the barrier.

"It's for your own good, sweetheart," her mother murmured, putting an arm across her shoulders. "Ms. Lippitt has assured us you will still be able to contact your friends, even if you aren't going to school with them."

"B-b-but.." she stammered.

"Our minds are made up, pumpkin," her father said kindly, as they stepped outside of King's Cross Station. "Ms, Lippitt, can we drop you off anywhere? I didn't see a car when we met you."

"I'll be fine, Dr. Granger." Ms. Lippitt replied.

"Please, call me Dan."

"And Emma." her mother chimed in.

"Then you may call me Sheila. We'll be contacting you in a couple of weeks with more details."

Sheila walked down the street and stepped into a nearby shop.

"Let's go, Hermione." her mother said, "Trust us, it will be OK."

Hermione followed her parents to their car, hand clenched around the paper with Harry's phone number. No matter what happened, she would keep in touch with her best friend.

* * *

<< "Mr. Blue Sky", Electric Light Orchestra >>

10 July 1993

Skegness Beach, Lincolnshire

The summer sun was doing its level best to burn off the morning fog, but an unseasonable cold snap meant that there were no holidayers in evidence when the bedraggled black dog paddled ashore. Even so, after shaking itself dry, the lanky canine carefully studied its surroundings before transforming into the form of a raggedly-dressed man whose pallor and unkempt appearance suggested that he'd seen better days. Possibly years.

Sirius Black, late of the wizarding prison Azkaban, stood on English soil for the first time in over a decade. He took a deep breath of salty air, thinking back to the dream of piercing blue eyes that had awoken him the night before, and the sudden urge he'd had to make his escape.

"Ah, Mr. Black. There you are at last."

Sirius whirled at the voice, instinctively grasping for a wand that wasn't there. Behind him, on a patch of sand that had been bare moments before, a young woman in a blue Muggle suit sat at a white metal table with a jaunty multi-colored umbrella, sipping at a steaming cup. The long-forgotten smell of fresh coffee wafted to his nose from the silver service on the table, which also held a plate of pastries and various condiments.

"Wha-"

The woman set down her cup. "Do sit down, Mr. Black. Or do you prefer Sirius? Or perhaps Padfoot?"

Mind dizzy with confusion, Sirius sat down, finding a cup already waiting for him. Purely by instinct, he picked it up and took a long draught. His eyes widened at the familiar taste.

"Much better." the woman remarked. "Cream & three sugars was your preference, correct?"

Voice croaking from disuse, Sirius responded "How did you know? Who are you? Did the Ministry send you?"

The woman took another sip, before delicately nibbling at a scone. "In no particular order: My name is Sheila Lippitt. I am not associated with your Ministry of Magic, or indeed any magical government, and I know quite a lot about you, Sirius Black."

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "If you aren't with the ministry, you must be a Death Eater."

"Of course!" Sheila responded. "And I plan to overthrow the wizarding world with an assortment of fresh pastries, and hot coffee!"

Sirius scowled at the retort.

"A rather forceful young lady of my acquaintance insists that wizards don't have an ounce of logic." Sheila continued, ignoring his discomfiture. "Up until now, I wasn't sure I believed her."

"How did you know I would be here?" Sirius growled, "Are you some kind of seer?"

Sheila dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin and sighed. "I told him not to play games, but he enjoys his machinations far too much."

"Who, Dumbledore?"

"No, not him." She leaned forward, peering deep into his eyes. "Pay very close attention, Mr. Black. _Ouroboros_."

A door unlocked in Sirus' mind, and memories came flooding in. A mysterious visitor. An offer of freedom. Glowing blue eyes and a command to forget until the word was given.

"What do you want?" he croaked.

"It's more about what you want, Mr. Black."

"And what do you think I want?"

"Quite simply, three things. Your name cleared, revenge on one Peter Pettigrew, and the safety and happiness of your godson, Harold James Potter."

"Harry..." Sirius sighed. "I've thought about him every day of the last twelve years. Is he all right?"

Sheila shrugged. "He's had a rough life, but the organization I represent has plans that will change that. And you are a key part of those plans, Mr. Black."

"But how?" Sirius whined. "Where in the world can we go where Harry can be safe with me when I have every Auror on the planet hunting me down?"

She told him, and he barked with laughter.

"That would do it," he replied, a rakish grin taking years off his features.

"Are we in agreement, Mr. Black?"

"We are, Ms. Lippitt. But please…. call me Sirius."

* * *

<< "Twilight", Electric Light Orchestra >>

6 August 1993

Magnolia Crescent, Surrey

_A funny prickling on the back of his neck had made Harry feel he was being watched, but the street appeared to be deserted, and no lights shone from any of the large square houses._

_He bent over his trunk again, but almost immediately stood up once more, his hand clenched on his wand. He had sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black alleyway. If only_ _it would move, then he'd know whether it was just a stray cat or - something else._

_"Lumos," Harry muttered._

(Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, page 32-33)

A light appeared at the end of his wand, and between the pebble-dashed walls of Number 2 and the garage door, Harry saw, quite distinctly, a woman in an old-fashioned blue suit.

"Ow!" the woman cried, shading her eyes, "That's WAY too bright."

Harry hurriedly whispered the counter-spell, hiding his wand behind his back. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought you were a prowler or something. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Potter," she replied, blinking a few times. "Merely startled."

Harry whipped his wand forward again. "Who are you? How did you know where I was? Did the Ministry send you?"

The woman grinned, raising her hands to show them empty. "Wow. Deja vu. You two will get along great. To answer your questions, Harry… can I call you Harry?"

Harry steadied his wand. "If you insist."

"Well, Harry, my name is Sheila Lippitt, and I'm the deputy headmistress of St. Lucien's Academy, a new school dedicated to magical students of a mundane background. We're unaffiliated with the Ministry, as we are not located in the United Kingdom, and would like to invite you to join our pilot program."

Harry's wand shook slightly, as the muscles of his arm, already sore from his long walk, quivered under the strain. "And how did you find me?"

Lippitt shrugged. "We've been keeping an eye on you ever since you left Hogwarts. But this is the first time you've been out of the house for an extended period of time. Your minders are busy cleaning up that burst of accidental magic of yours."

"A-a-accidental magic?" Harry murmured, wand drooping.

"Oh yes. I'm told it happens all the time with young magicals. They have an entire department devoted to clearing these things up. It's not even illegal."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Then I won't be expelled and have my wand snapped?"

Lippitt smiled kindly at him, "No Harry, you aren't in any trouble. Listen… I'm not even magical. can I put my arms down now?"

"Oh, sure," Harry said, sheepishly, scratching the back of his head with his wand tip. "Sorry… it's been a rough week."

"Yes, we really should do something about that," Lippitt murmured, half to herself. "Maybe Wolf can pay a visit…"

"Excuse me?"

Lippitt grinned. "Just woolgathering. Now that you know I won't be killing you, would you care to hear our proposal?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am," Harry replied, remembering his manners at last. "I'm pretty happy with Hogwarts."

"Possessed teachers. Giant three-headed dogs. Demonic diaries. Being ostracized for language skills. A freaking BASILISK. And that idiotic popinjay, Lockhart." Lippitt replied, counting on her fingers. "Yes, you've had a great magical education."

"It's not _that_ bad". Harry replied. "I've learned a lot, and the professors are great!"

"Snape." she retorted. Harry scowled on reflex.

"Well, _most_ of the professors are great. And I have friends. Real friends!"

"Ah, yes, about that." Sheila mumbled, "Have you heard from your friend Hermione?"

Harry nodded, remembering the letter in his trunk. "She said she had to cut her holiday short this year, because of something that happened. She was going to tell me when we met, but I think it had something to do with that Black guy, the escaped convict they caught in the States."

"You heard about that?" Lippitt remarked.

"Yeah. For some reason, the Government isn't trying to esstry- um.."

"Extradite him, yes," Lippitt said. "It's all very bureaucratic & boring. If I promise it's not a weapon, will you let me take something out of my pocket?"

Harry nodded.

Lippitt reached inside her blazer and pulled out a black rectangle about the size (and half the thickness) of a deck of cards. "You might want to sit down for this."

Somewhat confused, Harry sat on his trunk. Lippitt tapped the glossy face, and stated in a clear voice, " _Rushien, chan'neru o hirake_."

A blue beam of light erupted from the surface, expanding into a column containing a familiar bushy-haired bookworm. Hermione's head pivoted until she spotted Harry.

"Do I just talk?" she called, nodding as she apparently heard an answer. "Oh Harry, it's great to see you! I have so much to tell you that I couldn't in my letter. Did you like the kit? Are your relatives treating you all right? Are you eating?"

Harry smiled at the rapid-fire interrogation. "I'm okay, Hermione. Is this some sort of Floo thing?"

"Not exactly," Hermione replied, eyes downcast. "I can't tell you more unless you agree to hear Sheila's pitch. Those are the rules."

Harry thought in silence for a bit, while Hermione's image chewed its bottom lip in that endearing way she always had.

"OK, I'll give it a shot. But I'm not agreeing to anything."

Hermione smiled, looking a bit cuter than he remembered. "That's wonderful Harry! I'll see you s-"

The image flickered out, as Sheila rotated her palm to face outwards. "Hold on, Harry, this can be a bit strange the first time. _Rushien, tobira!_ "

A glowing rectangle erupted from the device in her hand, hovering in place before them. Harry's jaw dropped.

"Go ahead, Harry," Lippitt remarked, grinning. "It's just a Door. I'll get your trunk."

Harry stood up, squaring his shoulder. "Gryffindors charge ahead!"

He stepped through the rectangle and found himself in a swirling tunnel of energy that reminded him somewhat of one of the old tapes Mrs. Figg liked to play… something about a doctor? He felt himself being pulled forward to another rectangle, off in the distance, when he stopped with an abrupt jerk.

"Foreign presence detected." a calm voice, reminding him oddly of Ollivander's, announced. "Intervention required."

"Scanning now," a second, almost accent-less voice replied. "Look at me, Harry."

Harry looked around and found himself confronted by two blue eyes in a black cloud.

"Yeah, you definitely don't belong."

Harry panicked. Would he be stranded here forever? There was a sudden burst of rainbow light, and he felt a chill in his mind like an ice lolly he'd had as a lark at Hogwarts. It faded, and his head felt lighter.

"On your way, Harry." the second voice commanded, tinged with humor. "I'll take out the trash".

Before he could respond, Harry was yanked forward again, tumbling through the endpoint to land in a circular room ringed in similar portals, save only for a narrow walkway leading to a relatively normal metal door.

Said door slid open, admitting a brown-haired missile that tackled him in a hug. "Oh, Harry! You made it! We were so worried?"

"We?" Harry asked. A familiar *prek* made him look up, and he smiled at the sight of Hedwig gliding in to take her accustomed perch on his shoulder.

"She arrived earlier today," Lippitt remarked, as she handed his trunk to a lanky young man in a dark purple sweater. "Wolf is still trying to figure out how that happened."

Hermione tugged on his arm, dragging him to his feet, unconcerned with the protesting owl. "Oh Harry, I have so much to show you!"

They went through the door (which closed behind them) and turned left into a gently curving corridor.

"It looks pretty plain here," Harry remarked. "Almost like a hospital".

"Yeah, it's not as fancy as Hogwarts," Hermione admitted. They stopped at a window in the outer curve of the hallway. "But you can't beat the view."

Harry looked out the window at the blue-white expanse hanging before him in the blackness.

"No, I suppose not…"

<< "The Thunderbirds March", Barry Gray >>


	2. Moments of Transition

<< "Hedwig's Theme", John Williams >>

1 September 1993  
Hogwarts, Scotland.

Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, O.M. (First Class), Grand Sorc., D. Wiz., X.J. (sorc.), S. of Mag.Q., Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards etc. looked out over the Great Hall with a sense of satisfaction. The Sorting Ceremony always refreshed him, seeing the bright new faces of young wizards and witches of all stripes eager to get their first taste (in most cases) of real magic.

He glanced slightly to his right, taking in the new staff members. Seeing Hagrid, newly exonerated from the accusations of his youth, take the well-earned role of Care of Magical Creatures professor warmed his old bones, although he made a mental note to himself to have Minerva look over his lesson plan. Next to Hagrid was young Remus Lupin, who was smiling as Hagrid told tales of the new DADA teacher's misspent youth. For the most part, the others at the table were amused by the stories, as even the stern Transfiguration mistress had the slightest upturned corner of her pursed lips.

He turned to his left. Predictably, the only member of the staff who did not appear to be enjoying themselves was his resident Potions Master, who was glaring at the chunk of new potato at the end of his fork as if it had personally offended him. Dumbledore sighed. Truly, it was partially his fault, as he had decided in a moment of puckish mischievousness to keep the identity of the incoming Defense professor a secret until they were seated next to one another at the High Table.

He should not have been surprised when Severus took one look at his table-mate and immediately moved to the opposite end of the table. Severus was a brilliant potion-maker, and a true Slytherin at heart, but his tendency to hold grudges had become legendary. Indeed, Dumbledore wondered if he would ever see Severus smile...

"Albus?"

Dumbledore turned once more to his stern-faced Depute, "My apologies, Minerva. One has a tendency to wool-gather in one's old age. What is it?"

McGonagall frowned, her lips drawn into a tighter line than usual, even for her. "We have a disciplinary matter to attend to. Third years fighting on the Express. A Slytherin and one of my lions"

"Alas, the follies of youth," Dumbledore sighed. "I shall dismiss the other students, so the offenders can be brought forth without public embarrassment."

He proceeded to do just that, standing and announcing the end of the Feast with his usual surrealist panache, reminded once again of his old friend Salvador, gone over 4 years now. After the students drifted off to their dorms, chattering amongst themselves, he gathered the staff with a glance.

"There is an administrative task that needs attention. Severus, please remain. Minerva, you may bring in the students."

McGonagall stood, "Mr. Weasley? Miss Clearwater? Please bring them in."

The new Hogwarts Head Boy, Percival Weasley, walked in, a hand clamped on the shoulder of his youngest brother. Next to him, Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater (who the rumor mill had linked romantically to the eldest Weasley... Dumbledore had won 5 sickles in the pot) escorted a sullen Draco Malfoy by the simple expediency of twisting his wand arm behind his back in what appeared to be a well-practiced grip.

"I believe it would be best to hear from the elder Weasley first. One wouldn't want to keep our newest Head Boy from his duties. Mister Weasley?"

Percival puffed up at the implied compliment. "Thank you, Headmaster. I was... uh... discussing academic matters with Penny here when I heard a commotion in the hallway. I opened the compartment door to see my brother Ronald straddling Malfoy and hitting him in the face like a common Muggle, shouting 'Where is he! What did you do to him?'. I immediately pulled him off while Penny looked after Malfoy."

The staff turned to the Ravenclaw witch. "I immediately cast Episkey to take care of Mr. Malfoy's minor injuries and we locked them in separate compartments for the remainder of the voyage. Upon arriving at Hogwarts, we reported the infraction to Professor McGonagall and escorted the two students via carriage to the school.

"Well done, both of you," Minerva replied. "You may return to your dorms. Now, what do you have to say for yourself, Mr. We-"

"He hit me!" Draco interjected, "I demand he be expelled! All I was doing was looking for Scarhead and the mu-"

He blanched at the glare from his head of house, "I... mean Potter and Granger. I was merely looking forward to telling them about my summer. When out of nowhere, Weasley attacked me!"

"He did something to Harry! I just know it!" Ronald cried.

"And what would make you say that?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward.

"Harry wasn't on the train. We didn't see him in the Alley, either!"

Dumbledore looked over at McGonagall in alarm, to see a similar expression of worry.

"Did you ask Miss Granger where he was? Perhaps she saw him on the Muggle side of the station?" she queried.

Ronald shrugged. "Oh, she wasn't there either. I figgered she was just in another compartment reading again."

"Did any of you see Harry or Miss Granger on the Express at all?" Dumbledore asked the quartet. All shook their heads in the negative, expressions ranging from worry (on the face of the youngest Mr. Weasley) to indifference (on the Malfoy scion).

He thought back to the feast, using his considerable Occlumency skills to review the faces at the Gryffindor table. At no time did he recall seeing the famous Potter shock of black hair, or the equally memorable fernlike curls of the brightest witch of her year. His expression darkened.

"Professor McGonagall? Your decision?" he commanded.

"15 points from Gryffindor and a week's detention with Professor Snape. And I will be writing to your parents, Mr. Weasley!"

Ronald blanched, throwing his freckles into stark relief. "No! You know what Mum will do!"

"Fighting on the Express like a hooligan! In all my years at this school, I've never seen such a thing!" she scolded, "Now be off before ah gat into an anger wit ye! An' that goes for ye as well, Mister Malfoy!"

The boys dashed off as Dumbledore watched his deputy compose herself. Once he saw she had regained her equanimity, he spoke up.

"I am concerned that Harry and Miss Granger are missing. Although the Dark Lord has not made an appearance since his attempt at the Stone, he still has supporters out there, as last year's events indicated. Severus, have you heard anything?"

Snape scowled, "I do not concern myself with the actions of students during the summers. It is annoying enough having to teach them during the school year."

McGonagall glared at him, as Dumbledore continued. "I will floo Arabella, see when last she saw him. Minerva, could you contact the Grangers?"

"Of course, Albus."

"Potter probably ran off with her in a burst of adolescent hormones." Snape remarked, "Just like his fa-"

"Yes, yes, we know. Thank you Severus." Dumbledore sighed, "I can only hope one of them can give us news."

As if on cue, there was a flash of light, and a large falcon of indeterminate breed and oddly metallic feathers appeared, dropping a thick letter in front of the Transfiguration Mistress, before swooping up and vanishing into the stars depicted in the ceiling above.

"What is it, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked.

McGonagall opened the letter, quickly scanning the contents. She dropped it back on the table, covering her mouth with one hand.

"Minerva? What is wrong?"

She looked up at him, face ashen. "These are the forms to withdraw from Hogwarts for Colin Creevey, Hermione Granger..."

"Yes?"

"...and Harry Potter. Harry Potter has left Hogwarts."

Dumbledore grabbed the letter, studying it carefully. Indeed, there was the indecipherable scrawl of Dr. Granger, as well as the clearly-practiced calligraphy of Vernon Dursley. The simple signature of Samuel Creevey was barely an afterthought.

"Impossible!" he roared. "Minerva! Go to the Grangers this weekend! Severus, check with the Dursleys! Use your connection to the aunt if you must."

"No," Snape replied, simply, standing from the table. "If they want to leave, let them. That's three fewer dunderheads I have to deal with. I only wish they'd taken Finnegan and Longbottom with them."

He straightened his robes, the ghost of the flicker of a smile on his face, before striding off, the faintest strains of "Happy Days Are Here Again" wafting from his lips. 

Dumbledore watched him go with a look of disapproval.

"Minerva, I would still like you to contact the Grangers, perhaps this weekend. I will see what I can find out from the Dursleys"

"Understood, Albus", she nodded. "Wherever they are, I do hope they are all right."

* * *

<< "Song 2", Blur >>

1 September 1993  
St. Lucien's Academy, GSO.

"WOO-HOO!!!" Harry shouted as he looped around the gymnasium to make another pass at the goal.

"Too slow, Harry!" Dennis Creevey cried, panting at the exertion, as the shining orb rebounded from the walls. Despite his diminutive size, and Harry's own skills in that area, Dennis was an absolute maniac in the air, and a far cry from the eager puppy his elder brother had been at Hogwarts.

"Nice block, Den!" said sibling cried out from the viewing booth. 

As he caught the ball, Harry felt an odd pang of jealousy at losing Colin's hero-worship, before the memory of interminable flashbulbs cleared it away. He grinned, hefting the glowing sphere in two hands. Dennis might, arguably, be a better flier, but Harry had experience and stamina on his side. One more run...

A quiet *bong* interrupted his reverie, and a stuffy voice announced. "Apologies, Mister Potter, Misters Creevey. But your next class in Magickal Theory is in 20 minutes."

"Aw heck!" Dennis cried as they drifted toward the slowly opening gate. "I almost had you that time!"

"You still tied him, Den" Colin remarked, as he tossed Dennis a towel. "That's the closest you've come yet. The _mangHompu'_ back home would say you fought well."

"Thanks, Col," Dennis replied, wiping his face,

"Now go wash up. You stink, _loDnI'Hom_!" Colin laughed, as he ducked the thrown towel. "I'll meet you in class."

Dennis took off his purple T-shirt and headed towards a shower cubicle, removing the rest of his clothes along the way. Harry moved to one of his own, although he kept his clothes on until the last minute, folding them neatly on the shelf provided. He glanced up at the mirror, before peeling the control glyph off his forehead, smiling once more at the smooth skin beneath.

After scrubbing what needed to be scrubbed, he donned the school uniform of white shirt, maroon & silver tie, and black suit and grabbed his bookbag from the bench. Digging through it, he grunted.

"Problem, Harry?" Dennis asked.

"I forgot my wand. I need it for today's class."

"I guess I'm lucky," Dennis grinned. "I never had to get one."

"Yeah, yeah. " Harry groused, "I'll run to my room and get it. Tell Mistress Kali I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Will do!" Dennis nodded, hefting his own bag on one shoulder. "Seeya!"

Harry dashed off to the rooms he shared with his godfather. Thanks to some excellent (if rather odd) medical care, Sirius was back to full health, and the two wizards had settled into a comfortable relationship. When he arrived, Sirius was typing away at the keyboard, looking up as the door slid open.

"What's up, pup?" he asked, face quizzical. They'd settled on nicknames for each other early on, although Harry never admitted why he'd chosen to start abbreviating Padfoot to Pad. But he thought his father would approve.

"Forgot my wand. I think it's still in my trunk." Harry explained, diving into the closet. He dragged his battered luggage from the back and started digging through it, tossing assorted bits of kipple behind him. Beneath his second Weasley jumper, he found what he was looking for. He turned to see his godfather staring oddly at a scrap of paper.

"Something wrong, Pad?" Harry asked, tucking the wand into his back pocket.

"These are the Weasleys, right? I never met the kids, but Arthur & Molly look much the same."

Harry went over and looked at what Sirius was holding. "Oh yeah, that's the photo from the Prophet when they won the lottery. Something wrong?"

Sirius shook his head distractedly. "No, nothing like that. I think I need to talk to the Headmaster about something."

He grinned wolfishly, "Get your scrawny arse to class, kiddo."

"Yessir Mister Padfoot Sir!" Harry replied, throwing a mock salute. He dashed out the door, while Sirius stared at the paper in his hand.

Harry arrived at the classroom with moments to spare, seeing his classmates already settled on the mats. Ignoring the grins of the Creevey brothers, he sat down in the back next to Hermione, who was bent over her 'pad.

"Who won?" she whispered, not looking up.

"Tie match," he replied. "I ran out of bloody time."

"Language!" she scolded, glancing up. She smirked, "Although I'm sure Dennis was insufferable about it."

Harry was about to retort when the door opened and the teacher, known to one and all as "Mistress Kali", glided in, gracefully sitting on the cushion at the front of the room.

"I see we're all present," she announced, straightening her robes, "so we might as well begin."

"Yes, Mistress Kali." the class chanted. 

"I assume that you three brought what was asked for?" she continued. "Please place it in front of you."

Harry shifted awkwardly, digging the wand from his pocket, before placing it on the ground before him. Thank Merlin he'd found it in time. He looked up to see Colin & Hermione had done the same. He wondered why she asked the class to bring them.

"You may be wondering why I asked you to bring them, given that we've not needed them so far," Kali said, eyes twinkling. "The reason is to talk about WHY they are used."

The class leaned forward, attentively.

"As we've discussed in the past, what the wizarding world calls 'accidental magic' and 'wandless magic' are essentially the same thing: Using one's psychic energies to dynamically access the telluric currents. As an untrained child, your access was naturally a bit unstable, and driven more by emotion rather than willpower."

Harry heard, rather than saw, Hermione's fingers typing the information into her notes. While the exercises they'd performed in class so far had the handy side-effect of improving memory and recall, she still preferred the certainty of a backup. Harry wondered if there would be exams...

"... and hence, they have to unlearn what they've learned. Don't you agree, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry, Mistress Kali. What were you saying?"

"Wandless magic is more difficult to learn later in life. **_And that you need to pay closer attention, Harry_**." she chided telepathically.

" ** _I'm sorry, ma'am_** ," he sent, before speaking aloud, "Yes, but doesn't that mean that it's better not to use wands at all?"

"One might argue that, yes," she replied. "But that's not exactly true. Colin, may I see your wand?"

Colin nodded, bending his head. His applewood wand slowly rose into the air and wobbled over to the teacher's hand.

"Someone has been practicing, I see," she remarked, plucking it from midair. Colin blushed, ignoring the whispered comments from his brother.

Mistress Kali held it aloft. "A wand is a tool, a focus. It allows for finer control of magickal energy, at the expense of some flexibility."

Hermione raised her hand, "I'm not sure I understand. Isn't that what a spell is for?"

"Excellent question, Miss Granger." Hermione beamed, but her face fell as the teacher continued. "But that's not exactly it. Have you ever made chocolate chip biscuits?"

Hermione blinked. "Yes? With my mother, back home."

"If you want to make any kind of food, the best place to start is with a recipe. A process to follow that gathers the ingredients you need, and transforms them into the desired outcome. Is everyone with me so far?"

Harry nodded alongside the others.

"But you not only need the process and the ingredients but the proper tools. Bowls, spoons, and the like. If you needed 5 millilitres of vanilla extract, would you use a cup? Dennis?"

"No, Mistress Kali. You wouldn't be able to control the amount. Mum uses a teaspoon."

"Correct. On the other hand, if you needed 200 grams of chocolate, you wouldn't use a spoon. It would take all day."

She waved the wand in the air, trailing light. "A wand is a precision instrument, capable of amazing feats of delicate control. But it's not the only tool out there."

"Does that mean there are other kinds of focuses out there?" Colin asked.

"There are indeed, although the proper plural is foci." Colin blushed at the correction. "Once you've stabilized your control over your own mind, we'll be introducing some of them, including the one the Headmaster prefers. Each has pluses and minuses, none better than any of the others." 

Hermione raised her hand, "What about magical cores? I read about them in Waffling's Magical Theory."

"Ah yes. Magical cores. How can I best explain them..." Mistress Kali paused. "They are a crock of dragon guano. Magical cores don't exist."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "But the book..."

"...is wrong." the teacher continued. "It's based on the premise that magic is like a hose or a river, filling a reservoir inside each wizard and witch. When one uses too much magic at once, it supposedly 'runs out'."

"You mean, magical exhaustion?" Harry asked, raising his hand as an afterthought.

"Supposedly, although for some reason, wizards never focus on the 'exhaustion' part. Have you ever tried to do something complicated when short on sleep?"

Everyone nodded. 

"Then it should be no surprise that your magic doesn't work when your brain is tired. THAT is what 'magical exhaustion' is."

She opened her hand, and the wand floated back to Colin. Harry blinked... were those glowing symbols on her arms?

"What the wizarding world got wrong is that they think magic is a river that flows into you. It isn't." she intoned.

Her eyes glowed gold. "You are a river that flows into IT. And it... is an ocean."

She smiled, "And when we are through, you'll be amazed at how deep you can go."

* * *

<< "Cups", Anna Kedrick >>

4 September 1993  
Hogwarts, Scotland.

Albus Dumbledore drummed his fingers on his desk with irritation. The various (borderline-illegal) tracking devices disguised as mechanical knick-knacks that he'd created to monitor Harry's health and well-being were spinning along merrily, indicating that wherever he was, he was happy and safe, but the tracking charm was utterly confused, swinging rapidly in circles as it tried to get a fix. He'd even made a clandestine call to the Ministry to check if the Trace was working, but unless Harry actually cast a spell, it was useless.

On top of it all, the Wizengamot kept holding emergency sessions regarding the Sirius Black extradition, but the American Magical Investigation Bureau insisted that it was no longer a matter of concern. Since the Americans were not part of the ICW, even his role as Supreme Mugwump held no sway over them. He was reduced to waiting for a floo call from Arabella Figg, who had only just returned from visiting her Muggle cousin in a small village called St. Barry's Beads or some such. He'd sent her an owl asking her to call back as soon as she could.

Finally, his fireplace crackled to life with emerald flame. "Hello, Albus? Are you there? I found your letter on my stoop. Is something wrong?"

He kneeled on a quickly-conjured cushion and stuck his head in the flames. "Indeed there is, my dear Arabella. Harry has gone missing. When did you see him last?"

"Oh, not since the Magic Reversal Squad came by to fix his aunt. Not Petunia, that horrid woman with the dog. My babies were terrified."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Why did you not inform me of this?"

"It was such a minor matter. One counter-spell and a sweep of memory charms. I had to show them your letter so they wouldn't wipe my memory as well." she nattered on.

"May I come through? I would like to speak to his family. Perhaps they know where he's gone."

"Of course, Albus. I'll just put on the pot, and we can have some tea."

Dumbledore straightened up, tossed some powder into the blaze, and declaimed "Clowderhouse!" before stepping through.

Wisteria Walk, Surrey

On the far side, he quickly charmed himself soot free, transfiguring his morning robes to a fetching ensemble he'd purchased on Carnaby Street.... when was that. '73? '74? No matter, he was certain they'd come back in style. Reluctantly waving away a tray of lemon digestives, he stepped outside and strode towards Privet Drive, rapping on the door of #4 as soon as he arrived.

The door opened, revealing the florid face of Harry's uncle... Marlon was it? No, Vernon. Vernon took one look at his face and slammed the door.

Dumbledore knocked again, with somewhat more force. The door re-opened, and he took the liberty of inserting his foot in the gap.

"My dear Mr. Dursley. I fear you must have mistaken me for a salesman of some description. My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hog-"

"Ah, so you're the freak that dropped him off." Dursley interrupted, mustache bristling. "Only took you 12 years to check up on him. What, was that madman with the umbrella not free?"

"I just wanted to ask about Harry," Dumbledore replied.

"He's gone, and good riddance. The Yank in the suit told us where to sign, and we did it. He's not our problem anymore." Dursley replied brusquely. "Now go away, and stop bothering hard-working normal people who just want a lie-in on a Saturday morning."

Dumbledore tried a quick Legilmency probe, but Dursley had already turned away, reaching for something by the door. 

"Can you at least tell me where he went?" he pleaded.

Dursley poked his foot with a stout cane, causing him to pull back. "Lucius something. I didn't care to ask more. Still don't."

The door slammed shut, as Dumbledore's face paled. But before he could imagine the worst, the ghostly figure of a cat appeared before him.

"You'd best come here, to the Grangers, Albus. Something is seriously wrong." his deputy announced.

Crawley, West Sussex, about 10 minutes earlier.

Professor Minerva McGonagall appeared outside the Granger residence with a barely noticeable crack. Checking her appearance in a sidelight, she carefully straightened her coat and rang the doorbell. Shortly thereafter, the door opened revealing Emma Granger.

"Ah, Professor. We've been expecting you. Do come in. Would you like some coffee? I just finished a pot."

"No thank you, Dr. Granger," Minerva replied, stepping in. "I just wanted to ask you about Miss Granger."

"Hermione?" Daniel Granger replied, stepping into the neatly decorated foyer. "She's at her new school, along with the other boys."

McGonagall frowned, "Just what is this new school? Can you tell me anything about it?"

"Nothing at all," Emma replied, as she entered carrying a silver tray.

"You mean you don't know?" the professor spluttered. "Aren't you worried about where Hermione is?"

Daniel put his arm around his wife, and grinned insouciantly. "Oh, we know exactly where she is. We talked to her this morning. We're just incapable of telling it to you. Sorry."

Professor McGonnagall rubbed her forehead, wondering if the Weasley Twins had somehow managed to brew polyjuice. She looked back at the smiling couple.

"Do I have permission to call the Headmaster?"

At their nod, she cast a messenger patronus. Moments later, he appeared, and she repeated what she'd been told. At a nod from Albus, she stepped back.

Dumbledore gazed sorrowfully at the Grangers. Clearly, they had been Confounded, possibly obliviated.

"My dear Doctors Granger. I do not understand why you removed your daughter from Hogwarts, when she was doing so well." he murmured.

The male Granger opened his mouth to reply but closed it again at the touch of his arm by his wife.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, I can't imagine why you'd think having Hermione unconscious for weeks is doing well," Emma replied, "but we chose what was best for her. And from all she's told us, Harry and the others are thriving as well."

"Won't you tell me where they went?" Dumbledore replied, slipping his wand from his sleeve,

Daniel smiled again, "I'm afraid we cannot, Headmaster. And even if we could."

"We wouldn't." his wife chime, in.

Dumbledore looked up at the male Granger who met his eyes, giving him the opening he needed. His wand flicked forward imperceptibly, and with a whispered _Legilmens_ , he dove into the man's mind...

... to be confronted by a pair of glowing blue eyes, floating in a dark void. The glow brightened, casting him out.

Daniel's grin widened, "I was wondering what that would feel like. Tickles a little. As you can see, Headmaster, the academy keeps its secrets close."

Dumbledore turned to Emma. "I would assume you are equally protected."

At her returning nod, he sighed. "Then I apologize for disrupting your morning. Good day to you both."

The two professors arrived back at Hogwarts just in time for lunch, taking their usual seats at the High Table. While they awaited the food, Minerva pondered the morning's occurrences.

"I don't understand it, Albus. How can they just remove her from Hogwarts?"

"The more important question, Minerva, is how did they know what happened to her?" Dumbledore replied.

"You dinnae tell them?" she replied, accent slipping in shock.

He shook his head, "The situation was well under control, although Harry's timely assistance simplified matters."

Minerva pursed her lips with displeasure, as he continued. "But that is water under the bridge, as the children say. The bigger question is, where are they now?"

"Who can say? They might as well be under a fidelius!" Minerva cried.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Whatever the spell, it was imperfect. They were able to tell me that it is an academy, and Harry's uncle mentioned the name Lucius."

"Not Malfoy!" she interjected.

"I do not believe so. While he was a passable student during his time here, Lucius Malfoy was never a student of the mental arts, and no other Death Eater would have named it after him. I can only assume it was a coincidence. Dursley also suggested he was an American, and Malfoy would have never deigned to pretend to be that. What does this tell us?"

Minerva paused, gathering her thoughts. "An American school, no an academy. Named something like Lucius. Lucy Academy. Lucan Academy."

"Do you mean St. Lucien's Academy?" Pomona Sprout remarked, taking her seat at table. "Sorry for being late. Minor mishap with some mandrakes in my first-year class."

Dumbledore whirled to look at her, almost losing his hat. "What is that, Pomona?"

Pomona sipped her juice, and replied, "Something one of my third-year 'Puffs, Justin Finch-Fletchley, was talking about in the common room last night. Apparently, they tried to recruit him right after the end of last term, but his father refused. As Justin put it, 'If I can't go to Eton or Harrow, at least I can go to a British school!'"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Pomona, I could kiss you! That must be where they are!"

"I'd rather not, Headmaster," Pomona blushed. "But thank you."

"I will contact the Ministry on Monday," Dumbledore continued. "I don't know who these Americans are, but they have no idea what is coming."

Unnoticed, near the rafters, a metallic hawk watched with glowing eyes.

<< "You Can't Always Get What You Want", The Rolling Stones >>

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm gratified by the feedback this story has received. It's really motivated me to continue.

Regarding the unexplained words in this chapter:

 _mangHompu'_ : Cadets

 _loDnI'Hom_ : Little brother

As to why the Creeveys are speaking _that_ language... well, that would be telling. ;)


	3. Moments of Revelation

<<"Time", Pink Floyd >>

St. Lucien's Academy, GSO  
October 1, 1993

Harry added the last symbol, and tapped the glass, nodding with satisfaction as the lights began to swirl before his eyes. As the floating figure solidified, he grinned at a job well done.

Writing computer programs was _fun_!

Looking around the room, he saw that Colin & his brother had somehow managed to get their figures to share a display, and were trying to make them fight. When he looked over at Hermione, he was surprised to see her frowning at her terminal.

Walking over, he asked "What's wrong, Hermione? I can't believe _you_, of all people, are stuck. You're _good_ at this."

She poked at the window one last time and looked up. "I just don't get it. This is fun and all, but what does this have to do with magic?" 

"Everything," a quiet voice responded. They turned to see the deputy headmaster, Professor Lippitt, re-enter the room.

"I don't understand," Hermione replied, face quizzical. "These are just games. They aren't _real_."

Professor Lippitt smiled gently. "Just because something starts as a computer program, Hermione, doesn't mean it isn't real. Trust me."

She moved to the lectern at the front of the software lab and rapped her knuckles. "Please save your work for now. It's time for a bit of an explanation."

Harry returned to his desk and tapped the necessary keys. He could just about hear Colin grouse that they'd just gotten the swords to work, but Dennis's response was too quiet to make out. As the windows closed, he looked up at the waiting teacher.

"First off, excellent work. For children who have only been at this for a week, you've done great. Full marks to all of you!"

Hermione raised her hand. "Um, Professor?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I, uh, didn't finish my program." she ducked her head in embarrassment. "I don't deserve full credit."

Professor Lippitt shook her head. "The programs were not the assignment. Otherwise, I would have asked you all to do the same thing, so I could grade you to the same standard."

"Then what was the point?" Hermione cried, looking up.

"To make you _think_ about the problem. At the end of the day, that's what programming is. Breaking down the information given to you, transforming it into a new form, and sending it out again. Anyone care to guess what also can be described like that? Anyone?"

Dennis gingerly raised his hand, and at the teacher's nod, continued, "A magic spell?"

"Got it in one, Dennis. Nicely done." The younger Creevey sighed in relief.

"One of our consultants, Dr. Ummer, likes to describe magic as 'sending a signal to reality's operating system', and while I don't entirely agree, it's a useful metaphor. What magic is, what a spell does, is a way to manipulate information, and change the way the universe perceives itself." 

Harry raised his hand, "You mean like a glamour?"

"Not exactly," Professor Lippitt replied. "Colin! What time is it? To the minute is fine."

Colin glanced down at his terminal. "It's 2:47, Professor."

"Hermione, what time would it have been if Colin hadn't looked down"

Hermione blinked. "Still 2:47?"

Professor Lippitt nodded, "Correct. Now, Harry... would it have been the same time if there were no clocks in the room? Or in the entire academy?"

Harry frowned. "Um... yes?"

"And now for the most important question. I don't expect you to have an answer, but I want you to think about it. If the time is the same even if nothing is measuring it, Where is it located?"

The room fell quiet, as the class tried to wrap their brains around the idea. Hermione half-raised her hands a few times, but never completely. 

For his part, Harry was stumped and found himself grateful when the door opened, and the Headmaster entered, dressed in his usual high-collared coat, and accompanied by his godfather.

"Sorry for interrupting, Sheila, but I need young Harry here for something important."

Professor Lippitt nodded, "We were pretty much done for the day, anyway."

She looked around the room. "For our next class, report to study room Phi in the Library. And keep thinking about that question. Class dismissed!"

As the other students gathered their belongings, Harry walked over to his godfather. "Something wrong, Pad?"

To his surprise, the headmaster responded, "Business at Gringotts in Diagon. We received an alert in our US mail drop that the Ministry has finally figured out who we are, and have called for a special session regarding Harry's case."

Sirius snorted. "Took them long enough. I _told_ you those hints were too subtle."

He stroked his short goatee idly. "Yes, you were right. Congratulations. There will be an extra pudding for you at lunch."

Harry chuckled at his guardian's expression, before remembering who they were with. "But what does that have to do with me, sir? It's not today, is it?"

"It probably should have been this week," Sirius snarled, "but _somebody_ decided that your fate should be decided on Halloween... as a show of respect to your parents.

Both wizards grimaced at the idea.

"I still don't see what you need me for. Why do I need to go to Gringotts?"

"Excellent question, kiddo." the headmaster replied. "As it happens, there's some business regarding your family that we've been putting off." 

"Don't worry, pup," Sirius interjected, eyes twinkling. "I'm still wanted in England, and you won't be dealing with just a teller, but if you remember what I've taught you, you'll do fine."

Professor Lippitt walked over. "Everything OK?"

The headmaster nodded, "Yes, we're fine, Sheila. Harry & I were just leaving."

"But I'm free for the next period." Sirius said, "Perhaps you would like to discuss Harry's progress? Over lunch, perhaps?"

Professor Lippitt grinned, "That sounds wonderful, Sirius."

Harry rolled his eyes and followed the headmaster to the transfer room. 

* * *

<<"Money", Pink Floyd >>

Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley.  
Moments later.

Harry & the headmaster stepped through the Door into a narrow alley outside of Gringotts and entered the lobby. Without pausing, the headmaster strolled to the first available teller, a goblin that Harry thought looked very familiar.

"State your business, wizard." the teller growled. "Time is money."

The headmaster leaned forward, and put his left hand on the counter, pulling up his sleeve with his right. Harry thought he saw a glimpse of silver.

" _'e' yIjatlhqa_ ", he hissed.

The teller blanched. " _Dughri' Qom! qaqIHneS!_ "

" _maH naDev 'oH. Ragnok yIja',_ " the headmaster replied in a firm voice.

" _lu', qaH!_ " the goblin barked, waving at a nearby messenger. A short whispered exchange later, the two humans found themselves escorted deep into the bank, past the vault carts and a few rather heavy-looking doors, and into a large office decorated with sturdy furniture.

The goblin behind the desk stood and approached the pair. Harry felt a hand on his back, and taking the hint, bowed deeply.

" _Ragnok ta'_ " his teacher said " _qatlho' maHvaD vIlegh."_

" _yI'el, jupwI'_!" Ragnok replied.

Harry cleared his throat, and the others looked at him. "Um... _qaStah nuQ, be'yach_."

Harry felt, rather than heard, his teacher snort. The goblin king stared for a moment, before roaring with laughter.

"I-I-I don't understand. What's so funny? Isn't that a traditional Goblin greeting?" he stammered.

Ragnok chuckled a bit. "I'm afraid not, Wizard Potter... I can see Wizard Black hasn't changed since his youth. What you said can most directly be translated as 'What is happening, female pet."

The headmaster nodded, "Or, in the vernacular: "'Sup, bitch!'"

Harry blushed furiously. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, young wizard..." Ragnok replied kindly. "After all, I'm the one who taught him how to say that. So one could say that I am at least partially to blame."

"Now that the formalities are over," the headmaster remarked, "Shall we talk business?"

"Of course, my friend," Ragnok agreed, "First, I think we need to address our young lord here."

"Lord?" Harry squeaked.

"As the sole living wizard of Potter blood," Ragnok began, "You are the heir to the Potter lordship, with all the privileges and properties that entails."

He reached into his desk and pulled out a small box. "This is the Potter ring, signifying your noble status."

Harry took the box and opened it, revealing a somewhat ornate gold ring with what looked like a two-handled jar carved into the reddish stone. He put it on, noticing that it re-sized with a flash.

"What does it do?" he asked.

Ragnok shrugged. "It works as a vault key, can be used to sign official documents, and gives you access to the Lord's Dining Room at the Ministry. Frankly, the food at the Leaky Cauldron is better. Oh, and I believe you can get a free cup of ice cream at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor on the third Tuesday of every month, while supplies last."

"Oh," Harry replied, somewhat disappointed. "I thought maybe it had magic powers."

"I'm afraid not, Lord Potter," Ragnok stated. "Just a rather old-fashioned resizing charm."

Harry looked at it and decided it really wasn't him, so he took it off and put it in a pocket. Ragnok nodded at this.

"Your father was the same way. He once told Wizard Black that he was afraid it would turn his finger green."

"You mentioned properties?" the headmaster murmured.

"Ah yes. Potter Manor was sold by Charlus Potter, Lord Potter's grandfather, when he retired, and the cottage in Godric's Hollow is now a historical landmark. The sole remaining property is an apartment that your father used before he married your mother. When you were born, he began subletting it to various Muggle students and artists. It is bringing in a tidy sum."

"That's all?" Harry asked, face downcast. 

Ragnok looked at his papers. "Yes. Upon your parents' demise, their monetary vaults were folded into yours, so you already have access to their funds. Your parents did not have any property on deposit."

Harry thought for a bit, and replied, "Thank you, King Ragnok, for explaining the situation."

He turned to the adult beside him. "Is that everything, headmaster? Will we be going back now?"

"Not quite, kiddo," he replied. "Ragnok & I still have some business to discuss."

"I have some books you can read in my study", Ragnok added, pointing at a curtained alcove, "And I'm sure you might find my weapon collection of interest. Be careful, however. They are quite sharp."

Harry bowed in thanks and passed through the curtain. He was surprised to see shelves of Muggle books and comics, including what looked to be a full run of _2000 AD_ in bound collections. Grabbing a random volume, he made himself on a comfortable chair and started to read.

Sometime later, he gave up and began scanning the shelves for something else. A collection of moving photographs on a shelf caught his eye, including one of a group of small goblins wrestling in a well-groomed back garden. Unlike the wizarding photos he'd seen, the cycle was quite long, and he found himself entertained by their antics, including one small figure with a shock of blond... hair?

Merlin, was that _Dennis_? Dennis _Creevey_?

He picked up the picture and stepped back through the curtain into the main office. Ragnok and the headmaster were talking about some sort of certificate, and making sure 'Hymie' was available, whoever that was. Despite his attempt to be discreet, they looked up at his approach.

"Is there a problem, Lord Potter?" Ragnok asked. "You seem distraught, for a human."

Harry brought forth the photograph. "Is this one of my classmates?"

Ragnok glanced at it. "Ah, you know the _QIyvIy_ family? Yes, that is young _DenIS_ , playing with my children. His brother took that image."

"But how? I thought they were Mug-," he stopped at a glance from the headmaster. "Mundanes? But this looks like it was taken a few years ago. They shouldn't have known anything about goblins!"

"That would be true, Lord Potter," Ragnok replied, smiling toothily, "But for one simple fact. _Samew'el_ _QIyvIy_ is my milkman."

Head spinning, Harry sat down. It seemed like only moments later that the headmaster put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Time to go, sport." he murmured. "Ragnok, have we your permission to leave from here?"

"Of course my friend," Ragnok replied. "And good luck with your battle."

The headmaster bowed, and Harry did likewise.

"Thank you for understanding, sir," he mumbled.

"My pleasure, young lord. You've made life much more interesting today." the king replied, nodding in return.

"Come, Harry," the headmaster commanded, "We have a lot to do, and not as much time as I'd like to do it. _Rushien, tobira!_ "

With a burst of light, the Door appeared, and they were gone.

* * *

<< "The Wall", Pink Floyd >>

October 31, 1993  
The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole, Devon

"Come on, Ron! We'll be late!"

Ron Weasley sighed at his sister's shout and went back to trying to make his ginger mop look presentable. The "Potter Trial", as the _Prophet_ had dubbed it, was the event of the year, and his father had to pull a fair number of strings to get tickets to attend. Merlin, even so, he was only able to get 4 seats, and no matter how much his big brother Percy had begged, he was stuck staying home and keeping an eye on the twins.

"Better you than me, mate," he muttered to himself, staring at his blue eyes in the mirror.

He blinked and grabbed his pet rat Scabbers from his cage, dropping him into a handy pocket in his best robes.

"Come on!" Ginny shouted again. 

"Coming!" Ron shouted back, as he rattled down the stairs. In the living room, he saw his parents and baby sister waiting by the Floo, while the rest of the assembled clan sat nearby.

"Come here, Ronald," his mother commanded, fussing over his hair to undo his hard work. 

"All right, everyone. Percy, watch your brothers. Fred, George, I don't want to hear about any trouble from him when we get back," his father commanded.

"Don't worry/Father. We'll/ be good. If/ you see/Harrikins, give/ him our best," the twins chorused.

"We will," his mother replied. The quartet lined up, grabbing a handful of Floo powder each. With a burst of green, they were on their way.

One Floo later.  
Courtroom X, the Ministry of Magic

The family took their seats. Ron's father nodded at their neighbor, Mr. Lovegood, who'd taken a seat in the press gallery. His daughter Looney was sitting beside him, holding a stack of parchment and some quills.

One by one, the crowd entered. Ron saw a few of his classmates, including Draco Malfoy (unfortunately) but it didn't look like Harry had arrived. The Wizengamot members filed in, dressed in their formal purple robes, and took their seats. A woman in a fuzzy pink cardigan took the lectern, tapping it with her wand to turn on the built-in _Sonorous_ charm.

"Hem-HEM!" she started, clearing her throat, "Investigatory hearing of the thirty-first of October, into offences committed under Wizarding law by the administrators, owners, and staff of the self-styled Saint Lucien's Academy, located somewhere in the territory of the United States."

She smiled sickly, reminding Ron of his Aunt Muriel, and continued, "Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock. Court Scribe, Parsifal Loyola Weatherby. Are representatives for the accused present?"

There was a hush as the assembled spectators looked around.

"As they are not present, the claims will be tried in absen-"

A metallic-looking bird flew into the chamber, dropping a bright blue envelope onto the lectern. 

Without being touched, the envelope transformed into a Howler-style mouth, and proclaimed, "Inform the court: Lord Potter has arrived."

From nowhere Ron could see, the sound of drums echoed in the chamber, which was joined by horns as the doors burst open, letting in five figures. Leading the way was his best mate Harry, wearing what looked like his school robes, but in purple and grey instead of Gryff colors. He was accompanied by a tall man with really short grey hair and a goatee, wearing high colored robes sort of like Snape's, but more closely fitted. Behind him was a cheerful looking fellow in tweed robes that Ron thought he'd seen around the Ministry, and two Muggles in blue... he thought they were called suites.

The chubby wizard spoke up. "Balthazar Elpham, of Dewey, Elpham & Howe. Advocate for the defense."

The pink-clad witch frowned, "Hem. And which of these gentlemen are representing the so-called school?"

The tall guy dressed like Snape stepped forward. "That would be me, Madame Umbridge."

"And you are?" Professor Dumbledore interjected from the bench.

"You may call me Combs. Diogenes Gwydion Combs. D.G. to my friends. I am the headmaster of St. Lucien's Academy," he replied.

Dumbledore nodded. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, sir. My apologies, Madame Umbridge. Please continue."

"Of course, Chief Warlock," Umbridge simpered. "The charges are as follows."

"Kidnapping of the British subject Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

"Committing fraud against Mr. Potter by representing yourself as an accredited wizarding school."

"Criminal negligence against Mr. Potter by not providing a proper wizarding education."

"And jaywalking at the corner of Shalon Street & Wood Avenue."

Madame Umbridge blinked at the last. "That doesn't belong there. Scribe Weatherby, please strike that from the record."

Minister Fudge spoke up from the Bench. "The charges have been read. How do you plead, Mr. Combs?"

That Elpham guy spoke up, "Not guilty of all charges, Minister Fudge."

"Very well. Madame Bones, you may proceed." Fudge replied.

The rather scary-looking witch to the minister's right looked at some parchments, and then over at Harry. "Mr. Potter.."

"Apologies, Madame Bones, but it is _Lord_ Potter. He took up his title some weeks ago. I have the official declaration from Gringotts here." Elpham interjected, passing a parchment to a clerk. Ron saw Dumbledore's eyes widen at this.

"Very well." Bones sighed, "Lord Potter. The enchantments in this courtroom preclude any form of magical coercion, so please answer this question. On or about August 2nd, were you taken from your residence by representatives of the Academy?"

"No, Madame Bones," Harry replied. "I left of my own accord. I met Professor Lippitt shortly after that."

"Did he force you to go with him?" Dumbledore added.

"She, actually, and no. She wanted to make me an offer regarding the school, and I accepted."

"Have you, at any time since, been prevented from leaving the school grounds?" Bones asked.

"Not really. I haven't wanted to. It's brilliant!" Harry beamed.

Fudge grunted. "That's well and good, but as Lord Potter is underage, he is not legally allowed to make such a decision. That would make this kidnapping by default."

"If it pleases the court," Elpham announced, "I have a sworn statement, provided by Lord Potter's relatives and witnessed by not only myself but also representatives of the Gringotts legal department, that they willingly agreed to withdraw him from Hogwarts and attend St. Lucien's."

He passed another, thicker parchment to the clerk. Ron could see the heavy seals at the bottom indicating magical assent.

Fudge took one glance and passed it to his right. "Amelia, is this legitimate?"

Mrs. Bones scanned the document carefully, peering closely at the seals through a monocle. "I believe so, Minister. At the very least, the seals are genuine."

Fudge harrumphed. Professor Dumbledore leaned forward. "That does not change the fact that there is no record in the International Wizarding Authority of this school existing. Mister Combs, how long has your academy been in operation?"

"I prefer Headmaster, Chief Warlock," Combs drawled, blue eyes glittering in the dim torchlight. "I'm sure as a fellow educator, you understand. But if you like... you can just call me Master."

Dumbledore nodded, eyes twinkling, "Of course, Headmaster Combs. We were discussing the founding of your school?"

"My Academy is a new institute of higher learning, " Combs replied. "Lord Potter and his fellow students are part of our first class."

"And why has the IWA not heard of you?" Fudge asked.

One of the Muggles, an older, balding man, raised his hand. "May I speak?"

Minister Fudge glanced at him, "And you are?"

"I am Jaime K. Laumer, Magical Ambassador to the Court of St. James."

He turned to the swarthy man next to him with a _huge_ mustache. "This is my associate, Nero Grave. We worked with the master here to ensure that the academy curriculum was properly certified by the Department of Magical Education in Washington. As the school teaches an alternative form of magic, it was not submitted to the IWA for review."

"Alternative?" Dumbledore asked. "Fascinating. But that is problematic, as the law requires that every British magical citizen received a proper wizarding education from either certified teachers or ones with masteries in their field. Might we see a demonstration of this alternate form of magic? With your oath that you will not harm anyone in the chamber, of course."

Combs nodded. "Of course, Chief Warlock. Anything for a fellow educator. May I draw a wand?"

Everyone looked at Madame Bones, who shrugged. "There are enough Aurors in the room to drop you in seconds if you try anything stupid, so go ahead."

Combs reached into his pocket and pulled out a smooth maroon wand with a bright golden pommel. He twirled it idly in his fingers, trailing blue light.

"Let's see..." he murmured, half to himself. "I know that our esteemed Chief Warlock is a master at what you call transfiguration, so perhaps a spot of that?"

He gazed out over the crowd, "I believe animate-to-animate Transfiguration is considered the most difficult. By any chance does anyone have a small animal with them? Perhaps a pet?"

Ron raised his hand before he could think, blushing as all eyes turned to him. "Um... I have a rat. He's old and useless, though."

Ginny scowled at him, whispering, "Why did you bring him? It's embarrassing!"

Ron shrugged, whispering back. "Felt like it. I dunno."

"Anyone else?" Combs asked. "No? Well, young man, please bring him out. One never knows what will be useful in life."

"Do I, uh, go down there or something?" Ron stammered, overcome by shyness.

Combs shook his head. "Just hold him out in your hand, lad. I'll take over from there."

Ron did so, pulling the half-asleep rat from his robe and holding him aloft. He almost jumped as the animal lifted from his hand and floated gently over the crowd to the other headmaster's waiting palm.

Combs studied the rat closely. "Excellent. Just what I needed. I know just the magic for you."

He lifted his head. "Thank you, young man! You've been a great help!"

Ron blushed and nodded. "er, you're welcome."

An orb of light surrounded Scabbers, lifting him into midair. The pet awoke, looking around in panic.

"Hang in there, rat," Combs remarked, lips curled in a wry grin. "This will be over quickly."

He raised his arms, as the orb floated before him, and began to chant.

"Change, change, transfigurate!  
Accept your long-delayèd fate!  
Free the friend unfairly damned,  
Break the chains of Azkaban!  
Now take your normal form anew,  
And rise now… "  
  
His eyes glowed bright blue, and he smiled nastily, "…Peter Pettigrew."

The orb collapsed, and in a burst of light, an ugly-looking man dropped on the floor. He ran back and forth, looking for an escape, but (as Madame Bones had predicted) was soon dropped in a hail of stunners.

The crowd grew quiet for an agonizing moment before the shouting began. It soon ended when Madame Bones fired off a cannon-blast charm in the room.

"Aurors, restrain that man and revive him. I want to know what's going on _now_, hearing or no hearing. You!" she shouted, pointing her wand at an unconcerned Combs, who had sat back down and sprawled in his chair. "How did you know?"

"I have some skill in the mental arts. Enough to tell when there's a human mind in an animal body. And I just happened to be reading about the history of Lord Potter's family the other evening, so I recognized his self-image. The rest... well, things happen, don't you agree?"

Combs looked over at the Weasley family. "I'm sorry you had to see that, lad. As recompense for the trauma, I will authorize the Academy slush fund to pay for treatment by mind healers…"

His eyes stopped at where Ron sat with his sister, "… for any member of the family who needs one."

Minister Fudge harrumphed. "Yes, yes, well done. The Americans have been resisting extraditing Black for months. Do you know something about this, Ambassador?"

Laumer turned to his partner, who stood. "That'sa correct, Signore Fudgy. He wasa tried under _il siero della verità_ and acquitted _._ Witha the kiss on sight order in place, we could notta bringa him here."

Fudge nodded, "Amelia, please have it lifted immediately. I want this resolved!"

"Yes, Minister," Madame Bones replied, "but we still have a trial to finish here."

Fudge scowled, "Are there any more witnesses? Can we vote now?"

The charges were read out, and the gathered Wizengamot voted.

  * Kidnapping: Guilty: 5, Innocent: 45.
  * Fraud: Guilty: 3, Innocent: 47.
  * Negligence: Guilty:17, Innocent: 33.



Fudge banged his gavel, "The accused is acquitted of all charges. Is there any other business before the court?"

Professor Dumbledore raised his hand, "Ah, there is one minor matter, Cornelius."

Fudge sighed. "Make it quick, Albus."

"While St. Lucien's has defended themselves admirably, " he continued, a grandfatherly expression on his face, "they can only act _in loco parentis_ during the school year. Even as a Lord, Harry is still a minor, and should be returned to the custody of his family, as there are no other options at this time. Of course, they could petition later, should a new claimant be found."

" _Mi scusi, professore,_ " Grave interjected, standing. "But, I thinka you're wrong."

He pulled a yellow button off his lapel, tossing it to Combs. His features melted away, and he gained several inches in height, to reveal the long-missing form of Sirius Black.

"As sworn godfather, I am claiming custody of Lord Harry Potter."

Pandemonium erupted. 

It wasn't until an hour-and-a-half later that a hastily assembled trial not only cleared Black's name but gave him custody of his godson. The Weasley clan gathered to congratulate the new family unit.

"You look well, Harry," Ron's mother said, after smothering his mate in one of her customary hugs.

"Thnk yu" he mumbled from her ample bosom.

"Whatever they are feeding you looks good, mate," Ron added. "Which reminds me... when's lunch?"

Harry laughed, clasping his shoulder in a one-armed hug. "I've got this shiny new ring that lets us eat at the Lord's Dining Room. Wanna give it a try?"

"You know me and food, Harry," Ron replied grinning.

The food at the Cauldron was better.

* * *

<<"Brain Damage", Pink Floyd >>

The Hog's Head Tavern, Hogsmeade  
3 Hours Later

Remus Lupin, the current DADA teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, poured another glass of firewhiskey and cursed his life. While being a werewolf was damning enough, having the full moon land on the day before he would finally get to see his cub again was even worse. He'd finally awoken in the Shrieking Shack at noontime, and that was far too late. Once he'd downed the waiting pain potions and washed up, he had no choice but to make his way down to Hogsmeade, throw some coins at Abe behind the bar, and drown his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle.

A hooded and cloaked figure stood before him, blocking the light. "Hello, Remus."

"G'way," he slurred, "'s Sunday. My day off. Don' wanna be bothered."

The figure pulled a wand. In a brief moment of clarity, Remus wondered if he should do something about that, but it was soon smothered by the pleasant alcoholic haze. Probably for the best, anyway. Nobody cared about him.

"G'wan... do it!" he mumbled, looking up blearily. "Don' care."

The wand tip glowed a sickly yellow. " _Sobrius_!"

Remus screamed as the Sobering Charm hit, burning out hours of drunkenness in seconds. The other people in the bar looked over but wisely decided to mind their own business.

The stranger sat down in front of him, placing a small vial between them. "You're going to want to drink that, old friend."

Head pounding, Remus tried to focus on the label, making it as far as "Han-" before the pain grew too much. With a shrug, he popped the cork and downed it in a single gulp, sighing as the hangover potion (with its familiar taste of coffee grounds and vinegar) took effect.

"Well, I'm not dead," Remus remarked, as his brain slowly engaged its gears, "and you don't sound like one of the teachers, so I'm guessing you want to talk to me about something. What is it?"

The stranger pulled back his hood, revealing raven-black hair and the familiar smirk of his brother in all but blood.

"That's a long story, Moony," Sirius replied, slouching back lazily. "I'm not even sure I believe it all myself."

A short while later, Remus had scribbled several notes on some scraps of parchment and was wondering if he was having some sort of firewhiskey-derived hallucination.

"And they even gave you custody of Harry?" he remarked, head spinning.

"Free and clear, although frankly, he doesn't need a guardian. Just people that care about him... like Pa'foo and Uncle Mooey."

Remus shook his head, "I have obligations to the school. I can't just up and leave."

"Tell Dumbledore you are leaving on the winter break. You wouldn't be the first. Remember old Woundwort, third year?"

Remus smiled, reminiscing. "They got married. Had a couple more kids, even. Last I heard, he was living in Patagonia."

"There you go. I'm sure the Ministry can provide some off-duty Aurors and the like. Is there a Mrs. Moony we need to worry about? Or even a maybe?"

Remus shook his head. "Nope. I've been too busy teaching to even think about that. What about you, Padfoot?"

Sirius grinned, "Let me tell you about Sheila…"

<< "The Boys Are Back In Town", Thin Lizzy >>

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Here are the translations of the Goblin phrases, save for the one actually decoded in the text, as provided by Scholar Hookrend of Gringotts Washington:

  * _'e' yIjatlhqa_ : Say that again.
  * _Dughri' Qom! qaqIHneS!_ : Perilous Skull! I am honored to meet you!
  * _maH naDev 'oH. Ragnok yIja'_ : We are here. Tell Ragnok.
  * _lu', qaH!_ : Yes, sir!
  * _Ragnok ta'_ : King Ragnok
  * _qatlho' maHvaD vIlegh_ : Thank you for seeing us.
  * _yI'el, jupwI_ : Welcome, my friend!



I leave the OTHER language as an exercise for the reader. :D


	4. Best-Laid Plans

<< "One Little Victory", Rush >>

25 December 1993  
12 Grimmauld Place, London.

Sirius Black was a wizard on a mission.

While living at the school had made his and Harry's relationship close, he was keenly aware that his godson had never had what could be considered a normal childhood, even for Muggles. So, once his legal and financial situation had been straightened out, thanks in no small part to the goblins at Gringotts, he enlisted his old brother-in-pranks Remus for one of the most important tasks of his life.

He called it "Operation: Prongslet's Best Yule."

Step 1 was perhaps the most difficult: Turning his boyhood home into somewhere actually livable. Here again, the goblins provided the most assistance (for a relatively modest fee of course), as their curse-breaking teams swept the house from attic to basement, removing centuries worth of malevolent artifacts, tomes of ill intent, and a rather frightening number of dark creatures.

Some were destroyed, others removed to secure storage either in Gringotts itself (Sirius did not even bother asking for the vault number), or in a few cases, moved to the Academy. One of the latter was a silver locket found in a secure case in his brother's den. Kreacher, the family elf, actively resisted its removal, but after a short discussion with Master Combs, he relented. In fact, he even seemed to lighten up a bit, to Sirius's surprise.

He didn't trust him, though, so he gladly pawned him off on cousin Andy, after re-instating her to the family. No sooner than he'd found himself elf-less than one of the strangest elves he'd ever met popped in, begging to be allowed to work for "The Great Harry Potter and his Dogfather".

Being somewhat allergic to housework, Sirius agreed, and Dobby had taken over management of the house. For all his oddities, he was a damn good elf. He'd even managed to remove the portrait of Sirius's mother from the entrance hall, allowing it to also be sent to the deepest vault Ragnok could find.

Sirius _definitely_ didn't want to know the number of _that_ vault.

After weeks of preparation, the extended Potter-Black clan were now gathered at the manor, and the celebrations were well underway. Gifts had been exchanged, hugs of gratitude given, and Dobby had outdone himself providing the massive Christmas dinner. And now, it was time for his favorite part of the holiday: Fun & games.

"Hey, Padfoot!" Remus called, "Want a cracker?"

Sirius looked askance at the multicolored bag. "Those aren't from Zonko's, are they?"

Remus raised his hand. "Marauder's honor. I picked up this bag in Diagon last week."

Sirius looked into the bag, noting the assortment of festive colors. One immediately caught his eye, being that it was the only one in the crimson and gold colors of his old House. He immediately snatched it up, crying out "Mine!"

Harry glanced up from his chat with his classmate Colin, who was showing off a new camera. "Everything OK, Pad?"

"Come here, pup. Let's pull this one!"

His godson glanced at Colin and ambled over. The pair each grabbed an end and pulled.

There was a burst of light and a shower of coruscating sparkles. Both godfather and godson found themselves bedazzled with golden glitter, to their mutual amusement!

"Moony" Sirius mock-roared snatching a licorice wand from the table. "Defend yourself!"

Remus grabbed Andy's daughter, "Call me" Tonks, and pulled her onto his lap to act as a shield. Oddly, she didn't seem to mind that much.

Sirius waved the wand in a dizzying pattern that would have been a lot more impressive if it hadn't bent halfway through. "I thought you said these weren't pranks!"

Remus grinned wolfishly. "I didn't say that. I only said they weren't from Zonko's."

Sirius harrumphed, and tossed the broken sweet onto the table, drawing his own wand. One quick _Tergeo_ later, and Harry was free of sparkly decorations, allowing Sirius to cast the same spell on himself.

There was another flash and a wave of laughter. Sirius turned to the elder Creevey boy, who was lowering his camera.

"What was that for?" he demanded, noting that both boys had dissolved into giggles. Indeed, most of the room had lost their composure.

Harry, gasping for breath, motioned at the hall mirror. Sirius loped over, and spluttered when he found that his hair and beard had both turned a rather fetching shade of bright pink.

He grinned lopsidedly. "Nice one. Magical trigger? But you forget, brother Moony, that the animagus transformation cancels out glamour charms."

With a small grunt of effort, he flowed into his Grim form, looking up with satisfaction, only to realize that his Padfoot form was now equally pink. Instincts took over and he ran whining from the room, accompanied by more laughter and camera flashes.

Once in his bedroom, he regained control and human form. Standing before his dressing mirror, he took a deep breath and cast his strongest _Finite_. His hair darkened to its usual shade of black, and he let out a sigh of relief... which turned to whimpers as it thickened and turned greasy.

He eeped manfully (in his mind, anyway) and recast the spell. This time, his hair turned green with orange streaks.

Several spells later, an exhausted Sirius gave up. At this point, his hair had gone through every color in the rainbow **_** except_ solid black, as well as multiple patterns. He'd finally ended up on a dark shade of blue that, while not his usual style, at least looked relatively normal.

"I give up," he sighed, breathing heavily.

He heard a slow clapping and turned to see his grinning godson standing in the door.

"And now, we're even," Harry replied, " _be'yacH_."

* * *

<< “Time Stands Still", Rush >>

28 December 1993  
12 Grimmauld Place, London.

"Please, Harry? Prongslet? Pup?" Sirius whined.

Harry ignored him and continued hissing into the microphone of his headset.

Sirius transformed into Padfoot, and tried to hit his godson with a full blast of "puppy dog eyes".

It was ineffective, After three days of pleading, cajoling, and outright bribery, Harry had refused to tell him how to reverse the prank. The best he'd managed to do was a persistent _Crinus Mutus_ charm, but that itched so much that he could only cast it on his beard. His hair remained the same shade of midnight blue. And as for the _other_ hair... not happening.

He resumed human form. "OK, kiddo. Spill. Don't make me go all Lily on your scrawny arse."

Harry sighed, and looked up, removing the headset. "That would work better if I didn't know Mum punished you more than she ever did me. What do you think she'd do if she'd heard of how you set me up with Ragnok?"

Sirius paused, thinking back, and shuddered. "She'd probably have threatened to neuter me. In human form. Without the benefit of a pain potion. Using a _spoon_!"

"Then I'd say you got off pretty easy, wouldn't you?" Harry replied, flashing an oh-so-familiar grin. "But since I'm getting a bit tired of watching you mope, your hair color will return to normal when we return to the Academy."

"But I want it off _now!" Sirius whimpered. "I have a date!"

The grin returned. "Then you'd better hope they like the color blue."

Harry put the headset back on. "You'd better get ready, Pad. I want to finish this module today, or Master Vasuki will get… sarcastic. I'd rather not go through _that_ again."

Sirius watched him study for a moment, debating whether retaliation would improve his chances of a cure. A lingering shred of self-preservation convinced him that if his godson could do _this_ to him...

Discretion won over valor, and he stalked over to his bedroom to prepare. If he had to embarrass himself in the middle of Diagon Alley, he'd be damned if he wouldn't look cool doing it, He donned his best casual robes, topped by a shimmering cloak of acromantula silk. He took one final glance in the mirror, and straightened his collar a millimeter, before lifting the hood of his cloak, twisting on one heel, and vanishing with a slight *crack*.

He reappeared at the Alley apparition point and checked his watch. 

"Just in time," he murmured, glancing down a shadowy side street. There was a brief flash of light, and his partner for the afternoon's activities stepped onto the Alley.

"Hello, Sheila."

Sheila was dressed in a sort of neo-Victorian outfit of cobalt blue topped with a matching boater hat tipped at a rakish angle. Her brown hair was tied up in a loose up-do, and she carried a black umbrella like she knew how to use it. All in all, Sirius found himself reminded of an old-fashioned nanny, albeit one with better fashion sense than most. She even wore an old-fashioned pocket watch, tucked into her waistcoat.

"Hello, Sirius. It's lovely to see you again," she replied, eyes sparkling in the winter sun. 

He offered his arm, and she took it as they continued into the Alley proper. 

"What's with the tall, dark, and mysterious look?' she asked, as they approached Fortescue's. "You're a free man now."

"Harry," Sirius replied simply. "He played a prank over the holidays, and well..."

Looking around, he partially lowered his hood. "Now I have blue hair. I'm sorry."

Sheila laughed. "Don't be. If you hadn't noticed, blue is my favorite color. I've always liked it... it's part of me."

She reached around his neck with both hands and pulled down the hood the rest of the way. Sirius couldn't help but notice that it brought her face close to his. He leaned forward...

"Later," she murmured. "I find myself wondering what else turned blue. From a purely scientific perspective, of course "

Sirius blinked, as she stepped back and retook his arm. "Ah.. um... yes... Ice cream?"

"That sounds lovely. Florean always has the most remarkable selection."

Shortly thereafter, they were seated at a table, chatting lightly about their holidays in between bites of Fortescue's best. Sirius had ordered the strawberry and peanut butter, while Sheila had decided to experiment with Earl Grey and lavender. He was wondering if he could sneak Sheila into his home without Harry noticing when a dark feathered shadow blotted out the sun.

"Apologies for interrupting, but you are Ms. Lippitt, I believe?" a raspy voice inquired.

The couple looked up to see the formidable form of Augusta Longbottom, wearing her distinctive vulture hat, standing before them. Her grandson Neville stood beside her and slightly behind her, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

At the moment, Sirius agreed with him.

"That is correct, Madame Longbottom, unless this is regarding the Academy, in which case Professor or Mistress would be more appropriate," Sheila replied coolly.

"It is regarding your school that I am here, Professor," Augusta continued, not even blinking. "My Neville is not thriving at Hogwarts as he should, and I have come to believe that the quality of magical education has lessened since my day."

"That may very well be, but it is hardly my concern." Sheila mused.

"I want him in your Academy, starting with the Spring term," Augusta commanded.

"We already have our courses planned for the next term." Sheila riposted. "Your boy would be at a disadvantage, starting from scratch."

Sirius saw Neville pale.

"He's a Longbottom. He will rise to the occasion."

Sheila sighed. "I am allowed to recruit new students at my discretion, but there are certain formalities to attend to."

She turned to Sirius. "I'm sorry, but this won't take long. I'll be back in about 15 minutes."

Sirius nodded. "I'll be here. Maybe try some of that clotted cream."

Sheila grinned. "Don't get too full. Madame Longbottom, if you would?"

Augusta nodded. "Neville! Go over to Holland's Horticultury. I will pick you up when we conclude our business."

The chubby young wizard took off like a shot, belying his nonathletic appearance. As the ladies left to go, Sirius stood, sketching out a short formal bow in farewell. He was about to head over to the counter when he saw a familiar, if unwelcome, figure stalk towards him in a smooth, unhurried fashion.

"Black," the newcomer intoned.

"Greengrass," Sirius replied. "It's been a while."

"We have business." Greengrass continued.

"I doubt that very much. You and I have never seen eye to eye on anything. I am not my father. _Or_ my mother."

Greengrass scowled. "There is one thing we do have in common, although we didn't two months ago. We both care about our children."

"Go on," Sirius replied, eyes narrowing.

"Not here," Greengrass grunted. "Too public. We can take a private room at Gringotts."

Sirius shook his head. "I'm with a young lady. She'll be back in a few minutes."

Greengrass looked around, and his face lost its hardness. "Please?"

Sirius closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "Very well. But it will have to be quick."

Greengrass bobbed his head, relief clear on his features. Moments later, they were in a small sitting room in the bank, a decanter of firewhiskey between them.

"Talk quickly, Greengrass," Sirius demanded, as the other man filled a glass.

Greengrass sighed. "You know I have contacts among the... less reputable elements of our society. While my family did not support the Dark Lord last time, we didn't fight against him either. It all seemed so unimportant, compared to our status in the Twenty-Eight."

Sirius nodded.

"But that was before I had my daughters. Now, I would do anything to protect them. You have Potter now, you know what I mean."

"I... do..." Sirius murmured, eyes quizzical.

"There are strange stories coming out of Albania. Some of the Dark Lord's supporters have been seen in England, like Greyback and the Carrows. And Daphne tells me that there are rumors of the Dark Lord himself appearing at Hogwarts, two years ago."

Greengrass drained his glass. "I think he's coming back. And I don't believe Dumbledore can defeat him this time."

Sirius shrugged, "I don't see what that has to do with you and me. I'll fight like I always have."

"I want my daughters out of Hogwarts and safe," Greengrass replied, "and I know you have an in at that other school."

Sirius blinked. "That might be arranged. But I'll have to talk to Headmaster Combs. I can't make the decision myself,"

"Understood," Greengrass replied. "Send me an owl."

He stood, and bowed deeply. "The House of Greengrass thanks you. Should they agree, we will be in your debt."

He strode out of the room, leaving a stunned Sirius behind. Moments later, he shook himself and checked the time.

"Gotta go!" he cried, dashing out of the room and out of the bank. Thankfully, he could see Sheila heading back to the ice cream shop from the other direction, so he wasn't too late.

Both stopped when they saw the small blond figure seated at their table, protuberant silver eyes gazing at a rather impressive collection of ice cream scoops that dwarfed her head.

"Oh, hello!" the girl remarked, smiling distractedly, "I'm Luna. Luna Lovegood. But you can just call me Luna. Or Lu. Or even Na. I prefer Luna, however."

Sirius felt a small headache growing behind his eyes.

"I didn't mean to take your table," Luna continued, "But I knew you'd be coming back, and I couldn't resist trying everything."

Yep. Definitely a headache.

"How did you know that?" Sheila replied, staring at the girl curiously.

"Oh, the wrackspurts told me. They tell me all sorts of fun things. Like how I'm going to your school, starting next week."

Sirius sat down with a thump and rubbed his forehead.

"That is hardly likely, Ms. Lovegood." Sheila remarked, "Those decisions are up to myself or the Headmaster, and we've never met you before today."

"Oh poo..." Luna frowned. "I wanted to ask him if it was true that he once saved the world from evil blue gamelan players from outer space."

"What?" Sheila replied, eyes widening.

"Oh yes. It was quite an entertaining story. A bit long, however."

Sheila shook her head as if clearing it. "Upon further reflection, I think I may just allow you to attend after all. I will contact your father tomorrow with more details."

"Yay!" Luna replied, spoon clattering on the empty bowl. "Daddy will be so pleased!"

She bounced to her feet and skipped down the Alley. Sirius watched her go as Sheila sat back down.

"Looks like we have two more students for the spring term. " she sighed, "Like I needed more paperwork."

"Um... maybe more," Sirius stammered. "I met an old schoolmate while I was waiting for you."

He quickly ran down the meeting, and Sheila nodded.

"I suppose we can fit them in. They'll basically be a second student group." she murmured. "I think that's doable, although we may need more consultants to play to their strengths. Even _more_ paperwork"

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, eyes downcast, "I wanted this to be a special afternoon for you, but we've wasted so much time on school matters."

"Don't worry, Sirius." Sheila smiled, "There's still plenty of time."

"Not if we keep getting interrupted," he said ruefully. "We're just too well known."

Her smile widened. "Have you ever heard of a man named Omar Krepps?"

Sirius shook his head, "I don't think so. Is he a wizard?"

Sheila tilted her head. "You know, it's possible that he was? In any case, he once created a remarkable gadget, and the Headmaster's old partner learned how to duplicate it years ago. Follow me."

She stood and Sirius followed suit. She walked over to a quiet corner and pulling the watch from her waistcoat, linked arms with him.

She popped open the case. One fiddly moment later, the world froze and turned red.

"And now, my blue beau..." Sheila whispered, "we have all the time in the world."

* * *

<< “Closer to the Heart”, Rush >>

1 January 1994  
Hogwarts, Scotland

Albus Dumbledore nibbled on a scone with a smile of satisfaction as he looked out over the sparsely populated Great Hall. Even in ordinary times, he had a deep abiding fondness for times like the Sorting Feast and the New Year, because they symbolized new beginnings, a chance to retrench and give the world a second chance.

And the past year, as unusual as it had been, had shown him that his opinions were valid. True, he was disappointed that Harry was no longer under his control, but with time came wisdom and a fresh perspective. He knew now that the Prophecy had made this happen, to show Harry his mistakes, which was the first step towards redemption.

Proof would arrive this very day, from Bartimaeus Crouch, if he was not mistaken. If the Ministry approved his proposition, then not only his wayward Gryffindor but the entire Wizarding World would see that his way was the right one, not only for themselves but the Greater Good.

His eyes twinkled as he saw his Deputy sit gingerly at the Table, eyes questing for a tureen of hot coffee.

"And did you enjoy your Hogmanay, Minerva?" he teased gently.

Professor McGonagall growled at him, muttering imprecations in her mother tongue that he was certain, should he hear them clearly, would reflect poorly on his ancestry, intelligence, and possibly personal hygiene.

"Now, now... you should know better than to drink with Hagrid and Professor Flitwick. Neither could be considered to have weak constitutions, after all." he continued, adding just a bit of extra sparkle to his eyes.

"Aye," she responded, "but ye don't have to be so smug about it, ye canny _bodach_."

Dumbledore merely grinned in response and lifted his eyes expectantly. A scattering of post owls made their way to the high table, depositing their burdens amongst the remaining castle residents. His eyes widened as that strange metallic raptor cruised in behind them, and landed neatly on the table's edge.

He motioned towards his depute, "Please give your letter to Minerva if you don't mind. I believe she would be most relevant, should your missives contain what I expect."

Minerva glared at him as the bird hopped over. She took the letter, and slit it open with a handy butter knife.

"And how many of our students has the Academy poached now?" Albus inquired casually.

"Four!" she scowled, crumpling the documents in her fist. "Both Greengrasses, young Luna Lovegood from Ravenclaw, and another one of my Lions!"

"Oh?"

"Neville Longbottom! I cannae believe Augusta would do such a thing!"

"Fascinating," Dumbledore remarked, half to himself. "It would almost seem as they know..."

"Know what, Albus?"

Dumbledore waved his hand idly, "Nothing of import, Minerva. Just an old man's idle fancy."

She frowned. "That's eight students, Albus. Most of them Lions! We have to do something!"

"Indeed, my dear. And events are in motion as we speak. For now, however, we should ensure that their remaining belongings are packed and returned to their residences."

"I suppose you are right," she sighed. "But I am not pleased by this at all. Noddy!"

Nothing happened. 

She called again, "Noddy!"

With a quiet pop, an elf in Hogwarts livery appeared before them, wringing its hands "I's sorry, Professor Kitty. Noddy was helping Pibby with Professor Shawly." 

"Oh?" Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is she ill?"

"We's not sure. She woke up and started shouting all croaky. She better now, tho."

"Ah." Minerva replied, pouring a liter of disdain into a single syllable. 

As she continued providing instruction regarding his errant students, Dumbledore opened his own mail, glancing down to confirm the agreed-upon expansion. Apparently, there was still some discussion regarding the name of the revised competition, with "Tetra-Wizard Tournament" and "Quad-Wizard Quest" vying for approval.

The important point, however, is that they would return to Hogwarts, and see the error of their ways. Minerva would get her wayward Lions back, Severus his errant snakes, and Filius would get another chance with Miss Lovegood.

A thought occurred to him: The Academy hadn't managed to recruit any Hufflepuffs. Perhaps he should reward that house by carefully directing the Goblet to choose one of theirs as Champion. Young Mr. Diggory perhaps. For the Greater Good, of course.

He leaned back and smiled. Yes, everything was going according to plan.

* * *

<< “Far Cry”, Rush >>

1 January 1994  
Azkaban, North Sea

As the Dementors left the maximum security section, the few inmates who remained conscious expressed their displeasure in a variety of ways. Some screamed some cried in torment. Bellatrix LeStrange seemed to be aroused by the experience, but her mind had taken a vacation years ago, even before her incarceration.

The block's newest resident, one Peter Kimball Pettigrew, lay motionless in a fetal position. As the noises of his fellow prisoners subsided, it became clear that all he was doing was breathing evenly. Sadly, the human guards of the wizarding prison had not made their rounds, nor would they for another 3 minutes, minimum. Hence, there was no one to notice his lack of reaction to the cloaked demons' passage.

Nor did they notice when he sat up, manacles jangling, and took a deep breath.

Pettigrew smiled thinly. After months of waiting, he'd received the sign he'd hoped for, and it was time.

He shrugged his shoulders and stretched his neck, loosening his cramped muscles after the long trance. Reaching up, he grabbed the straggly hair atop his head and slowly pulled, wincing as the top of his scalp peeled away, revealing smooth skin underneath.

Reaching into the lining of the wig, he extracted a handful of small metal tools and set to work on his manacles. Mere moments later, they clicked open, and he felt the magic flow back into his body. He stood, letting the chains clatter to the ground.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he proclaimed, "And Bella, of course. While I would say it was a pleasure to be amongst you once more, I fear our association is at an end. However, once I have located our Lord, I am sure he will free those of you he deems worthy."

He smiled nastily, "Or at least useful. _Au revoir_ , my friends."

With a shrug, he transformed into Wormtail, scampering easily between the bars of his cell and down the corridor. Step one achieved. All he needed now was a patsy, preferably a guard. He kept to the shadows as he made his way into the less-secure portions of the prison. Sooner or later... ah yes.

"Perfect..." he thought to himself, mentally selecting the necessary tool stored in his astral wardrobe.

John Dawlish, while an excellent Auror, had an unfortunate lack of people skills, which had led to his temporary secondment to Azkaban after an unfortunate incident involving the Minister's Undersecretary and one too many firewhiskeys. And now he was stuck on this forsaken rock in the middle of the winter. Not for the first time, he wished he had some of that whiskey now, as the chill wind pierced his official cloak. 

There was a sudden rustle, and a bald figure in Auror robes suddenly appeared before him, slashing at his throat before he could speak. He grabbed for his wand, trying to heal it with a quick charm, but the stranger plucked it from his grasp before he could summon the will.

"Tut-tut," Pettigrew remarked, "The quality of Aurors has gone down. But you should be proud, my young friend... you will serve a key role in the return of the Dark Lord."

Dawlish moved his lips, trying to speak, but nothing came out. Pettigrew shushed him with a finger on the lips.

"Please don't move. This will not take long."

Pettigrew reached into his mouth and tugged at his oversized incisors, pulling them from his mouth with a slight snap. As Dawlish watched with graying vision, he tapped them with the Auror's wand, transfiguring one into a cup, and the other into a vial of a dark, muddy potion. The latter went into the former before the cup was placed beneath Dawlish's wound, and the potion turned golden.

"Excellent," he murmured, quaffing it in a single drop. "Huh. Coffee and doughnuts. You would have made an excellent Auror in time, I think."

His face rippled and turned into a duplicate of Dawlish's own. "If you'd lived, of course. _Comprimicorpus_! _"_

The disguised Pettigrew picked up the tiny figure and tucked it into a pocket. "I can't have you being found, can I? Now, a bit of theater."

He waved his wand in a well-practiced pattern, making his features look greenish and pale. A short while later, he staggered into the guardroom.

"Feel sick," he croaked, before slumping against the door-frame.

"You look like crap, Dawlish," an older gentleman, clearly a superior, remarked. "Been snogging Lestrange or the like?"

The others guffawed at this, and Pettigrew essayed a wan smile. "I think it was dinner. Anyway, that crazy bitch isn't my type."

"Who said I was talking about her?" the other replied, grinning nastily. "You don't look well. Robards, get him on the boat back ASAP, and apparate him to Mungo's as soon as you touch land."

Another Auror snapped off a quick salute, before escorting Pettigrew exactly where he needed to be. As they rode the rickety boat to shore, he went back into a trance, on the off-chance that it would extend the potion's efficacy.

Unfortunately, as they reached the pier, he could feel the tickling of the transformation wearing off. Just a little longer...

They stepped ashore, and Robards turned to look at him. "It won't be long now, John."

He looked closer, noting the rippling features. "John? Merlin! That's Polyjuice!"

He whipped out his wand and snapped off a quick stunner. However, it sailed over Pettigrew's head as he transformed into Wormtail and back, before closing with his opponent.

They wrestled to the ground, and Pettigrew found himself at a disadvantage against the younger, fitter man. He made a mental note that Auror physical training had improved since his day as Robards broke free, aiming his wand.

Pettigrew's eyes widened, but then he suddenly laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" Robards demanded, "I have you at wandpoint, and you'll be back in your cell by dawn. No one can help you now!"

The massive snake sprang from the shadows, sinking its fangs into his leg. His wand dropped to the pier with a clatter, followed shortly by the thump of his body.

Pettigrew stood, brushing himself off, before kneeling on the ground. "Thank you, my Lord."

" ** _You have done well, my faithful spy._** " the snake spoke in his mind, crimson eyes glittering. " _ **Now, my return can truly begin!**_ "

<< “The Bitch is Back“, Elton John >>


	5. Putting It Together

<< "The Arbiter", Tim Rice >>

1 April 1994  
The Ministry of Magic, London

The wizards gathered around the table were a conclave of power rarely seen in the wizarding world. 

There was Albus Dumbledore, defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and often proclaimed leader of the light. Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic and the political head of magical England. Bartimaeus Crouch, wartime leader of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and now the man in charge of all diplomatic contacts with other nations as head of the Department For International Magical Cooperation.

And Ludo Bagman, who Crouch thought was a moron but had to be here because of the blasted Tournament.

They had assembled at the Ministry to see if the American school Dumbledore was so worked up over would send their final agreement to attend said Tournament, as the three-month deadline was expiring at noon today. Crouch was unsurprised at the delay, as it was a bargaining tool he himself had employed in the past to unsettle his opposite numbers in other nations.

He smiled to himself. Seeing that old fool Dumbledore on edge was worth the hassle of waiting alone. They'd often crossed metaphorical swords during the war, especially regarding that Snape fellow. He may have been young, but a short stint in Azkaban would have cured him of any lingering tendencies towards Dark magic. All of the accused Death Eaters should have ended up there.

He frowned slightly, murmuring, "Almost all..."

"What is that, Barty?" Fudge asked.

"Nothing, Minister," Crouch replied, schooling his features. "I was merely saying it was almost time."

"You really must learn patience, Bartimaeus," Dumbledore interjected, in that annoying grandfatherly way he favored. "I am sure the response will be here any moment."

Irritatingly, he was correct, as a few minutes later, a magnificent barred owl, grey feathers striped with black, flew in and deposited a pack of documents in front of Bagman. Crouch noticed Dumbledore's eyes widen slightly, and pounced at the opening.

"Is something wrong, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I was merely surprised at the owl. My previous correspondence with them was always delivered by a strange hawk."

"Perhaps they stopped by Diagon Alley and bought an owl?" Bagman surmised. The other three wizards exchanged quick glances that strongly implied that whilst they rarely saw eye-to-eye on matters, they were united in their relief they were not him.

"Yes, yes..." Fudge remarked, "I am sure that it was something like that. What does the letter say, Ludo?"

The beefy blonde wizard awkwardly broke the seals with a finger and scanned the document, lips unconsciously moving.

"They agree to our terms, and only have a few requests."

"Oh?" Crouch inquired, silently appending "Get on with it, you fool."

"Nothing too spectacular. Space on Hogwarts grounds for their temporary quarters, access to the Library and other classrooms during their stay, and assurance that they will have, ah, auto-money under International Wizarding Law."

Fudge glanced over at Dumbledore, "Do you see any problems with that, Albus?"

Dumbledore shook his head, eyes glittering. "Of course not, Cornelius. I would be happy to allow them to use any of our classrooms. I look forward to see-"

"There's one other thing, Professor." Bagman interrupted.

Dumbledore turned to him sharply, before composing his features once more. "Yes, Mr. Bagman?"

"They want to know what the Tournament will be called. I guess they heard we were debating it?" Bagman mumbled.

"I wonder how...." Crouch growled. "Have you been talking about it again, Bagman?"

Bagman paled, to Crouch's silent glee, before stammering a denial. 

"It does not matter to me, of course," Dumbledore remarked, openly disregarding the byplay. "Do you have an opinion, Bartimaeus?"

"Ah, that doesn't actually matter," Fudge announced, hands fiddling with his trademark bowler. "As Ludo was busy with other details, I was happy to help order some banners and the like for him from a company that was recommended for quality work. This was before the new school was invited, so they all still say 'Tri-Wizard Tournament'."

"Wonderful," Crouch sighed, fists clenching. "And just what company was this?"

"Oh, a wonderful firm! Oculus Family Printing!"

Crouch thought for a bit before glancing over at Dumbledore, who nodded. "I'm sure that the recommendation came from a dear friend, who can be trusted implicitly. Correct?"

"Oh yes!" Fudge replied, "He has never lead me wrong!"

"I'm sure that Headmaster Combs will not take offense," Dumbledore smiled. "After all, it is an honor to be included."

"Yes, yes," Crouch replied, waving his hand diffidently. "I'm afraid you will have to leave now, Headmaster, as Director Bagman and I will need to discuss the arrangements for the tasks, and we wouldn't want you to be accused of favoritism."

"Again," he didn't add.

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore replied, "Cornelius, perhaps we should adjourn to your office? I wanted to discuss that new law with you..."

Fudge bobbed his head, sweeping up his hat. "Naturally, Albus. You know my door is always open. Ludo, make sure you send the owl back once you and Barty are finished. We don't want to keep our new friends in suspense now, do we?"

"Of course not, Minister," Bagman replied, smiling vacantly. He turned to the owl and asked, "You don't mind waiting, do you?"

The owl merely looked at him with amber eyes. Crouch knew how it felt.

* * *

<< "The Game is On", David Arnold & Michael Price >>

Three hours later,  
Charing Cross, London

The grey owl circled for a moment before swooping into a quiet alley, where a dark-haired man stood waiting.

"Hurry up, Moonfeather, and tell me how it went," Sirius demanded.

The owl blurred and took on the familiar form of Remus Lupin. "I told you before, Padfoot. That's not my new name. It was bad enough that I had to spend six weeks floating in a tank like a goldfish being poked and prodded by the Academy doctors, only to find out once they were finished that my new animagus form is a bloody OWL, without you giving me a name that sounds like one of those ponies Luna is always going on about."

Sirus smirked at him, "You helped Harry with those nanny boat things, and let him string me along for weeks! You are lucky it wasn't Moonblossom."

Remus shrugged, "He told you it would wear off when you returned to the school. It's not his fault you were so stubborn about finding the answer yourself that you didn't use a Door until February. "

"Yes, but...." Sirius slumped. "Have I ever actually won an argument with you?"

"Once," Remus replied, grinning wolfishly, "I said that nobody could do that to themselves. I still think you cheated."

Sirius smiled. "You never said it had to be in human form. Anyway, we should get going. We're wanted at Gringotts."

"Oh?"

"Ragnok found another one in one of their vaults. They were absolutely livid. Combs thinks that with the two we already have, it should be enough to make a locator."

Remus nodded. "That should help anchor the runic matrix. I only hope we don't have to go abroad. Harry needs us."

"Trust me, Moony. Everything will be fine."

* * *

<< "The Great Pretender", Freddie Mercury >>  
  
At the same moment  
The Ministry of Magic, London 

He stepped onto the street and took a deep breath. Meetings always drained him, especially dealing with the damn fool ideas of his fellow wizards. They should just let him manage the whole thing, and leave it at that. He was doing most of the work, anyway.

Perhaps he deserved a nightcap before going home. He didn't have much use for Muggles in general, but they did make good alcohol. Now, what was the name of that pub?

"Excuse me, but could I have a moment?"

He turned to face the new voice, eyes wary. The wizard had closely-cropped hair, but something about him looked rather familiar. "Can I help you?"

"Yes. You see, I need your face and body. Nothing personal, you understand. It's just a little project the Dark Lord and I have cooked up."

His eyes widened, "I know you now! You're Petti-"

There was a flash of light, and he knew no more.

<< "The Game", Motorhead >>


	6. Get This Party Started

<< "Love Song", AC/DC >>

30 August 1994  
Heathrow Airport  
London, England

The quintet of travelers returning from the Continent attracted little attention, and that was just the way Sirius wanted it.

When the Grangers had invited Harry and him to join them on their holiday in France, he had first demurred, wanting to spend as much time as he could with his godson, but the crestfallen look in Harry's eyes soon shook his resolve, and as he watched Harry blossom in the French sun, he came to realize that he'd made the right choice.

Getting the chance to visit a _plage naturiste_ was an added bonus, although it didn't stop him from shamelessly teasing his young ward at every opportunity. He was a Marauder, after all, and had a reputation to live up to

Emma Granger nudged his arm and pointed at the two teens, who had unconsciously reached for each other's hand as they waited for their luggage. 

"I told you it would happen, Sirius," she whispered, "Don't they look sweet together?"

Sirius merely snorted in response, although he quietly admitted that she did have a point. The pair had grown closer over the course of the trip, with only minor assistance from the adults. To his surprise, it was the rather stodgy-looking Dan Granger who had revealed a subtle streak of sneakiness beneath his affable demeanor. Sirius made a note to talk to Remus about making him an honorary Marauder.

Said Granger soon walked up to him, pushing a cart of luggage. While they'd traveled mundane-style to give the wizards an authentic holiday experience, a rather nifty charm on their baggage prevented the pieces from scattering too far apart.

"Come on, you two!" Sirius shouted, "Do I need to get a pry bar?"

He grinned as the teens jumped apart. It was good to be a bastard, although he knew his pup would make him pay for it later. Theirs was a dysfunctional relationship to be sure, but he wouldn't have traded it for all the gold in Gringotts.

They made their way through Muggle customs easily enough but hit a minor snag going through the _other_ security screening. 

"Names?" the bored-looking wizard behind the desk intoned. His name-tag read "Darling", a pureblood family that first gained prominence around the time of the Muggle Great War.

"Sirius Black, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter," Sirius replied, dutifully, handing over their passports.

Darling's eyes widened a fraction. "_The_ Harry Potter?"

"No, just _a_ Harry Potter," Harry replied, grumpily. "They bought me on sale at Harrod's."

Sirius snickered while Hermione hit his godson's arm. "Honestly, Harry! Can't you be seri-"

She caught herself and grinned sheepishly. "I almost did it again, didn't I..."

"Yep!" Harry replied, popping the p. Sirius barked a quick laugh.

"Can we get on with it, please?" Darling pleaded, one eye twitching. "Did you bring any wizarding plants or animals with you?"

"Not a one, Darling," Sirius replied, batting his eyelashes. The twitch grew worse. Sirius smirked.

Darling began reading off a checklist. "Are you bringing in any magical items that are currently illegal to use in public, or worth more than 23 galleons? Did you purchase any duty-free firewhiskey? Have you been anywhere where dragon pox, mumblemumps, or spattergroit is widespread?"

Sirius shook his head at each one.

Darling waved his wand over the trio and nodded at the results. He tapped his wand in a square in each passport before passing them back. "Welcome back to England. Please give me your international portkey for proper disposal."

Sirius took the passports back before replying, "We don't have one. We traveled Muggle-style."

"But why?" Darling cried, "Muggle arry-o-plans are cramped, noisy, and smelly! Have you seen the way they dress? And I've heard such horrible stories about the food!"

Sirius shrugged. "It's not that bad. You can't get a good drink on a portkey. And those little bags of peanuts are nice."

Darling snorted, "You'd never catch me in one of those deathtraps. I'd rather kiss a Gryffindor tramp!"

Sirius sensed, rather than heard, Harry holding Hermione back. He leaned over the counter, eyes glittering.

"I graduated from Gryffindor. My best friends were and are Gryffindors. So are these kids. You are going to apologize now, or learn why 'Never mess with a Black' is such a popular old saying."

Darling gulped, face pale. "Yes sir. Sorry, sir! Have a good day!"

The trio rejoined Hermione's parents and stepped through the arch to the lobby, only to find Remus Lupin, dressed in an old-fashioned chauffeur's uniform, holding up a printed sign reading "Granger/Potter/Black". Sirius motioned to the others and loped over, bending his head close to that of his old classmate's as they walked to the waiting limo.

"What's going on, Moony?" he whispered, "We were going to call a taxi to the Grangers, and get Dobby to handle the luggage."

"The headmaster wants you at the school," Remus replied, lips barely moving. "They found another one. Nasty one too, guarded by all sorts of hexes and a bunch of _inferi_. It took a squad of goblins and a full combat team to break the defenses. Even the Director showed up!"

Sirius blanched. He'd only met the mysterious commander of the station once when he and Master Combs had fought an exhibition battle in the zero-gee chamber. The ginger-haired giant of a man was on the ropes until he activated _that_….

"Did he use 'It'?" he mumbled.

Remus nodded, eyes wild. "He did. Ended up flattening the entire building. They had to use heavy equipment to dig the damned thing out of the rubble. I was sent to bring you guys back to the school as soon as possible."

They piled the luggage into the boot and entered the unsurprisingly spacious interior, strapping themselves in. When an Academy car was in a hurry, traffic laws tended not to be the only ones broken. 

* * *

<< "T.N.T", AC/DC >>

A short time later  
St. Lucien's Academy, GEO

After some judicious use of what Sirius inaccurately called disillusionment and levitation charms, they had parked the automobile in a garage called a "docking bay" and said their farewells to the Grangers, who would be taking a Door back to their residence.

The door to the bay slid open, revealing two young girls of similar age and appearance, but markedly different demeanors.

"Hermione! There you are!" Astoria Greengrass cried, shifting the goggles on her forehead. "You have to come see this! We finally got a sample of isiphonium, and you wouldn't believe what we've found out!"

"Hello, Tori," Hermione sighed. "Let me guess... something exploded?"

"No!" Tori replied. "Well, yes, eventually, but that's not the cool part! Come on!"

She grabbed Hermione by the arm, half-leading, half-dragging her down the corridor. Harry turned to the remaining student.

"Hello, Luna. How was your summer?"

"Quite satisfactory, Harry Potter," Luna smiled, "I was able to use the Academy's resources to narrow down the Snorkack hunt for my father. And my breasts have gotten slightly larger. Would you like to see them?"

Harry blushed fiercely. "N-no thank you, Luna. Not right now."

Luna pouted, a ghost of a smile dancing across her lips, "Drat! I wanted to see how they matched up against Hermione's!"

Harry's face reddened further. "Don't you think we should go keep an eye on Hermione and Astoria?"

Luna sulked a bit, then brightened. "Of course! But we have to make a quick stop to pick up something very important first!"

"Oh? What's that?"

"Popcorn!"

Sirius watched them leave, before turning at Remus' slight cough. "We really should be going, Padfoot. The science team agrees that we have almost enough now to pull off our plan. There's just one more to find, and all the signs point to it being somewhere in Scotland."

Sirius nodded. "Which probably means Hogwarts. And we can use the Tournament as cover."

"Precisely," Remus responded. "If all goes well, this could be over by Christmas!" 

"I hope you are right, old friend... for all of our sakes."

* * *

<< "Foreign Visitors Arrive", Patrick Doyle >>

30 October 1994  
Hogwarts, Scotland

Severus Snape was not impressed.

This was not an unusual experience, of course, as the castle's resident Potions Master was not known for his forgiving nature, but this evening's disruptions had made his usual choleric temperament even more irascible. Having even more dunderheads to deal with as part of the Tournament was irritating enough, but having to wait outside in a Scottish autumn for them to make their theatrical entrances had dropped his mood to abyssal levels.

The first to arrive was the contingent from Beauxbatons, careening wildly across the sky in an oversized cart that made Mr. Potter's arrival two years prior look almost tolerable in comparison. They were followed by that fool Karkaroff and his brats from Durmstrang, who chose for some Merlin-damned reason to travel by magical boat. 

Of course, Potter and his cronies were late. He turned to Dumbledore, a habitual sneer settling on his sallow features.

"Just how much longer are we expected to wait, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore looked at him, eyes twinkling as bloody usual. "You must be patient, Severus. They have the longest distance to travel, after all."

Snape scowled, "I don't know what complicated scheme you have in mind, Albus, but I don't see how bowing to these Yanks' demands will do us any good. Potter is an arrogant buffoon, just like his fa-."

A howling wind arose out of nowhere, cutting off his customary retort. The assembled faculty, staff, and students looked around to find the cause. There was a ripple in the air, and a massive green _thing_ appeared over their heads, blotting out the twilight.

<< "Thunderstruck", AC/DC >>

It circled over the castle before heading across the Great Lake. The wind shrieked to a higher pitch as the strange vessel stopped over a picturesque spot on the western shore, well past the broom shed. Snape could just about make a large hatch opening a hole in its underside, emitting a shaft of light.

He scowled as a huge black cube appeared within the light, lowering itself to the ground with surprising delicacy. Once it had settled to its base, the doord closed and the vessel screamed across the sky over their heads, vanishing into the distance.

"A charming display!" Dumbledore cried, only the slightest of frowns marring his air of bonhomie. "Shall we proceed indoors and greet our new friends with the true Hogwarts spirit?"

Severus rolled his eyes and shrugged expressively. "As you wish, Headmaster."

The crowd trooped indoors, taking their customary places in the Great Hall. As usual, Snape took a seat as war away from the new Defense teacher's seat as possible. Albus may have vouched for his bonafides, but the Slytherin Head of House had no illusions that the retired Auror was a forgiving sort. Many were the tales of Alastor Moody, but they almost always ended in death or dismemberment for those of a darker persuasion.

He rubbed his left arm unconsciously. "Can we get on with it?"

"Of course, my dear boy!" Albus smiled. "Attention! Attention!"

The chattering students quieted and faced the High Table.

"We will be eating shortly. For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their headmistress, Madam Maxime."

The doors burst open, and a bevy of frankly interchangeable blonde teenagers wafted in, sighing like lovelorn lack-wits before wriggling up to the front of the Hall to perform a rather embarrassing display of illusions. 

Butterflies? _Really_? 

Naturally, the male contingent of the student body (and a small percentage of the female students) were enraptured by the display. Dunderheads, the lot of them.

"And now," Dumbledore continued, "Our friends from the north. Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their High Master Igor Karkaroff."

"High Master," Snape snorted to himself. Igor always had more arrogance than brains. Just like bloody James Potter.

The Durmstrang students, looking particularly militant, marched in, chanting a cadence and pounding mildly-enchanted staves on the stone floor of the Hall, setting off sparks. This soon converted into a pointless display of athleticism, including a style of Muggle dance that Snape vaguely recalled from the previous decade. "Broken-dancing" or something of that sort.

The entrance culminated in a ridiculously obvious attempt to suck up to Dumbledore, as one student performed a minor bit of fire magic to create a swooping phoenix that hovered in front of the headmaster before flickering away. Naturally, the old fool ate it up, greeting Karkaroff like an old friend, despite the fact that the "high master" was a convicted Death Eater.

"And finally," Dumbledore announced, "Our special guests! Welcome back to Hogwarts the fine young scholars of St. Lucien's!"

The crowd turned to the doors and waited. And waited. And waited.

Snape scoffed. "Typical Potter."

A familiar thumping noise echoed through the silent hall, as the Academy students marched proudly into the hall, clad in dark Muggle blazers. Albus tilted his head to one side, quizzically, and whispered to the other professors, "Do any of you recognize this sound?"

Snape nodded, "AC/DC. The song is entitled 'Back in Black.'"

Pomona Sprout chimed in... "Lovely boys. I traveled with them in the late '70s…"

She smiled wistfully, as her fellow staff members gaped.

"Angus was such a talented young man..." she sighed.

Snape motioned to the nearest elf for a large shot of firewhiskey. " _It would call too much attention if I obliviated myself in public..._ " he thought.

The music faded as the St. Lucien's students lined up in pairs, Potter and that know-it-all Granger leading the way. Snape bowed his head to the inevitable, awaiting some adolescent display of magic to show off their meager skills, but none was forthcoming.

A dry voice spoke from behind the table. "Thank you for the greeting, Headmaster. It was most welcoming."

The staff turned as one to see the mysterious master of St. Lucien's, D. G. Combs, leaning against the wall, that strange falcon perched on his shoulder. For his part, Dumbledore recovered with his usual skill.

"Of course, Master Combs," he smiled, grandfatherly persona on full blast. "Would you like to have a seat? Perhaps by Professor Snape?"

"That will be suitable. Students!"

The standing octet turned to face him with surprising discipline.

"Please find seats where you will be comfortable. Any house will do."

They scattered, most ending up among the lions, some the snakes, and for some reason, Longbottom took a place at the 'Puff table. Oddly, the sole Ravenclaw among them did not return to her former house, instead taking a seat next to the Greengrass sisters at the Slytherin table. Snape glanced at Flitwick, whose eyes had narrowed. Interesting.

The feast was the usual plentiful but unremarkable fare. Snape would murder for a decent curry, but the last time the kitchen elves had made the attempt was an unmitigated disaster. Finally, all were fed to their satisfaction (and beyond, in the case of young Mr. Weasley) and Dumbledore stood.

"The moment has come,” he announced. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. While Mr. Filch brings in the casket, please let me introduce Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation…”

Snape scowled. Crouch was worse than Moody.

“…and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

Oh Merlin, that buffoon.

“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly on the arrangements for the Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and will be joining myself and the other headmasters as judges.”

While Dumbledore babbled, Filch had carried an ancient chest into the Hall, placing it before the headmaster.

“Traditionally, three champions compete in the Tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one from each of the participating schools. This year, for the first time in history, there will be four! These champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped it three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open, and he lifted out a roughly-carved wooden cup, filled to the brim with blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the Goblet carefully on top of it."

“Anybody who wishes to become champion must write their name and school on a slip of parchment and drop it into the Goblet,” he continued. “Tomorrow night, the Goblet will return the names of the four most worthy to represent their schools. "

"The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall, for all those who wish to compete. To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” Dumbledore announced sternly, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

"But Headmaster!" Draco Malfoy cried out, rising to his feet. "Potter and his friends are all underage!"

Snape motioned for another firewhiskey. How someone as skilled as Lucius had spawned someone so lacking in cunning...

"Most observant of you, Mr. Malfoy. " Dumbledore smiled, "Five points to Slytherin. However, because the Academy does not actually have any students of age, they are the sole exception."

"That's not fair!" Draco whined. "When my fa-"

"Ten points from Slytherin," Snape scowled. "This is neither the time nor the place for such... unseemly.. behavior, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco paled even more than usual and sat down. Snape sipped his "water" with an air of satisfaction.

“The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract," Dumbledore concluded. "There can be no change of heart if you are chosen. Please be _very_ sure before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.”

* * *

<< "If You Want Blood (You Got It)", AC/DC >>

31 October 1994  
Hogwarts Great Hall, Scotland.

Percy Weasley never expected to be back at Hogwarts so soon, certainly not seated at the High Table for a Halloween feast. But when his superior, Mr. Crouch, had asked him to attend, his heart had leaped at the opportunity. Said feast was now over, and he attentively turned to face the Headmaster, who had placed the Goblet on the table before him.

"The Goblet has 5 more minutes to make its decision," Dumbledore announced. "I would now like to invite Master Combs to enter his students into the Tournament."

The black-clad Yank stood, striding across the hall and extending one hand over the goblet. With a sudden flourish, a fan of light-blue cards appeared in his hand, and he dropped them one-by-one into the flames. When the eighth card dropped, Combs sketched a quick bow and withdrew.

"That's it?" Fred (or possibly George) shouted.

"We could have gotten someone older to put our names in?" his twin chimed in.

They palmed their faces in unison, before palming each others' faces, to the general amusement of the crowd. Percy wondered if it was too late to be adopted into another family.

Dumbledore stood, extinguishing the candles in the hall with a wave of his wand. "The time has come!" he intoned.

The flames of the Goblet turned Gryffindor red and ejected a piece of parchment. The headmaster deftly plucked it from the air, and announced: "The Beauxbatons champion is Fleur Delacour!"

In a similar fashion, Viktor Krum was made Durmstrang's champion, and Cedric Diggory was selected for Hogwarts, to the cheers of approximately one-quarter of the school. Percy could not fail to notice that they were both Quidditch players, and wondered about Ms. Delacour's skills at the game.

The Goblet turned crimson one more time, tossing a charred blue card into the air. Once more, the Headmaster caught it, turning it to read the name.

"And our final champion, representing St. Lucien's Academy is.… ah…" Dumbledore blinked, before continuing, "Harry Potter."

The students turned to the Gryffindor table, where the messy-haired Boy-Who-Lived sat chatting with his friends.

"Oh wow." he intoned dully. "What a surprise. Who could have guessed."

"Join the other champions in the anteroom for further instructions, Harry," Dumbledore commanded, crumpling the card with unexpected force before dropping it on the floor. "As for the rest of you, please have a good evening."

The assemblage dispersed, some clearly disappointed, others discussing what the Tournament may bring. Percy sat alone, bereft of instruction. He idly noticed the discarded card, and (after glancing around to see if anyone was watching) snatched it off the ground, smoothing it on the table. His eyes widened as he read:

"The student we all know you want in this, you meddling old fool,  
St. Lucien's Academy."

A short time later,  
The Cube.

"Well, it's done." Sirius sighed. "The burden is now yours, Harry. We can't help you until the endgame. Are you ready?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't have much choice. We all knew it was going to go this way."

His godfather pulled him into a quick hug, "Just be careful, kiddo. I can't afford to lose any more Potters."

"I love you too, Pad. And don't worry... I'm a Marauder!" Harry gave an achingly-familiar grin, "I'll give them a show they'll never forget!"

<< "Psycho Circus", KISS >>


	7. Bearding the Beast

<< "Don’t Fear the Reaper", Blue Öyster Cult >>

13 November 1994

The Cube™  
Hogwarts, Scotland  
  
Nigel Wolpert, first-year Gryffindor, stood before the latest addition to the Hogwarts grounds with mixed emotions. First, apprehension over the frankly disturbing black edifice that stood before him. Added to that was a large dollop of anxiety over the fact that he was sent here at all. He didn't REMEMBER annoying Professor McGonagall, but he must have done SOMETHING to make her select him for this task.

Those feelings were counterbalanced by the excitement that he'd get to meet, and even speak to, his idol, Harry Potter. When he'd heard that the Boy-Who_Lived had withdrawn from Hogwarts, he was disconsolate for days, but now he had a chance to make up for lost time. He cursed to himself quietly that he'd left his wizarding camera (a gift from a cousin) at home.

There was even a bit of curiosity over exactly what was going on in the Academy lodgings... no Hogwarts student had been allowed in there, and the Common Rooms were filled with rumors of strange ceremonies, often involving getting starkers.

Admittedly, most of the latter were from the Weasley twins and needed to be taken with a grain of salt, but Nigel blushed at the idea anyway. He wasn't exactly opposed to the idea of seeing the former Hogwarts students without clothes.... bloody camera.

Shaking himself free from his reverie, he stared at the sheer black surface of the Academy lodgings, looking for a doorbell or something similar. Seeing nothing, he paced around the exterior to check the other sides, panting slightly at the exertion. 

Nothing was in evidence.

Returning to the original path, he pondered the situation, musing aloud to himself.

"Come on... come on... use your melon!" he cried.

The surface of the cube rippled like a lake where a stone had been thrown, concentric circles spreading and intersecting before parting to reveal a metal door with some sort of intercom beside it. Taking a deep breath, Nigel pressed the buzzer.

There was a brief delay, then a slightly flustered (and oddly familiar) voice responded, "What do you want?"

"H-h-hello?" Nigel stammered. "I-I'm here to fetch H-harry Potter for the Wand Weighing Ceremony."

"Oh yes!" a second, gentler voice replied. "We've been expecting you! Do come in!"

The door slid open, and Nigel entered to find himself in a comfortable lounge, where two teenagers were adjusting their clothing. The boy looked up, eyes widening in surprise. "Nige?"

"Cousin Colin?" Nigel replied. "I didn't think you'd be here!"

"Do introduce us, Colin..." his companion, an ethereal blond girl with wide eyes, remarked.

"Sorry, Luna. Luna, this is Nigel Wolpert, the son of my mother's sister Billie. Nige, this is my uh study partner, Luna Lovegood."

"A pleasure to meet you, Nigel," Luna replied, standing. "Colin and I were just brushing up on human anatomy. Don't you think it's a fascinating topic?"

Nigel blinked as he shook her hand politely. "I guess so?"

"Colin and I have been studying it quite often." she grinned, as his cousin suddenly flushed deep scarlet.

Something clicked, and Nigel smirked back. "I'm sure you're up all night going over the basics, cousin."

Colin remained silent, although the look in his eyes promised pain at the next family reunion. Nigel was used to that but was pretty sure he could get Dennis on his side.

"Sexual innuendos aside, you said you wanted to get Harry?" Luna remarked, a slight smile on her face.

"Uh, yes?" Nigel replied without even a hint of smoothness.

"I think he and Hermione are in Transfiguration Studies right now. We can't let you go alone, but would you like us to escort you?"

Nigel nodded, and the trio entered the bowels of the Cube. It was all very high-tech, reminding Nigel of nothing less than that Star Trek show he'd watched on the telly. Everywhere there were metal walls, sliding doors, and flat lighting.

He turned to ask his cousin how long it would take when Luna suddenly remarked. "I think we should duck now."

Colin dropped to the floor as a burst of actinic energy erupted through a nearby wall, just singing the tips of Nigel's hair on his left side.

He gibbered to himself quietly as the curly-haired face of his younger cousin Dennis appeared at the new opening.

"There is a complete HOLE!" he announced, before noticing his spell-shocked relative. "Hey, Nige! What's up!"

A hand pushed Dennis aside revealing a blond-haired girl with goggles covering her eyes. "Excellent! But beam spread is wider than predicted. I think it needs more cowbell..."

Nigel simply stood there, until Luna sympathetically took his hand, leading him away from the slowly regenerating wall. "Right this way, Nigel. Good luck with the Death Ray, Tori!"

"Thanks, Lu!" the girl replied before the wall sealed shut.

They walked on, nodding briefly to a husky wizard and elegant witch who were deep in discussion over some obscure point of Herbology, and Nigel felt his nerves settle down. It wasn't nearly as bad as that first DADA class, after all... Professor Moody was SCARY.

The trio stopped before a door indistinguishable from the others and paused to listen.

"...our father was a genius at it. You know how her clothes vanish when she changes?"

The door slid open at a wave from Luna.

Inside, the unmistakable form of Harry Potter and a bushy-haired witch sat before a stuffy-looking professor.

"Yeah, I did notice that," Harry replied, "But when Sirius changes, he has to put new clothes on. Why is that, Remus?"

"That's because Sirius stinks at Transfiguration," Remus replied. "Wormtail was even worse. Half the time, it looked like he was still part rat. But Prongs... Prongs knew you could choose whether to have clothes or not when you transformed. And from that, he worked out that the clothes didn't go anywhere if you chose not to wear them."

"But that means.." Hermione replied.

"Precisely. You could store multiple outfits in what James called 'ani-space'. Even equipment, as long as they fit in your pockets or on your body. "

"Like the Professor's glasses?" Harry asked.

Remus nodded. "Or a spare wand."

He looked up, noticing the newcomers, including a rather frightened-looking Gryffindor. "Can I help you?"

Colin nodded. "This is my cousin Nigel. He's a firstie, and got drafted to drag Harry into that wand weighing thing the Master mentioned."

"Oh, is that today?" Harry remarked, padding his pockets before nodding. "I guess I'm all set. Want to come with, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. "If you don't mind, Professor, I'd like to learn more about this 'ani-space' situation. Do you have any notes on the topic?"

Remus shook his head, "Lily asked the same question. Sadly James wasn't much for writing stuff dow-"

The door slid closed behind them, as Harry turned to face the young Gryffindor. "Are you all right, Nigel?"

His brow furrowed as the first-year blushed. "Hero worship must be genetic," he murmured, before kneeling before the young Lion.

"Listen, Nigel... forget about what the books say. I'm a Muggle-born wizard, just like you. I put my pants on one leg at a time."

The young wizard flushed even redder. Harry shrugged, thanking Merlin that at least he didn't have to deal with a camera.

They reached the entry lounge, and Harry turned to his classmates. "Are you guys coming? It should be quite a show."

Luna shook her head. "Colin and I are staying. I want to review tonsils."

Harry grinned at the pair, noting Colin's shrug & smile in return. 

"Have fun, guys!" he cried, as he and Nigel stepped out of the Cube™.

* * *

<< "Veteran of the Psychic Wars", Blue Öyster Cult >>  
  
13 November 1993

Classroom Seventeen  
Hogwarts, Scotland

"Good luck!" Nigel said when they had reached the right room. Harry knocked on the door and entered.

For whatever reason, the Tournament staff had gathered in one of the less-used classrooms, shoving the desks against the walls to clear an open space in the middle, where his fellow champions, assorted Ministry staff, and some silly-looking witch in magenta robes with huge eyeglasses had gathered.

Ludo Bagman, whose idiocy had even reached orbit, brightened at his approach. "And here he is! In you come, Harry... we'll just weigh your wand and take a few photographs. Nothing a wizard of your calibre can't handle, right?"

Harry gritted his teeth, before brightening at what they had planned. "Of course, Mr. Bagman!" 

"Hello, Harry," the witch interjected. "I'm Rita Skeeter with the _Prophet_. Could I have a private interview before the ceremony?"

"I'm afraid Academy policy is to not allow students to speak to the press without a school representative present," Harry replied sadly.

"Oh, this won't be about your school," she answered, seizing his arm in a surprisingly strong manicured grip. "I just wanted to ask the youngest Champion in history how he felt about being in the Tournament. There's a broom closet just down the hall here."

Harry wrenched his arm free. "Miss Skeeter! Are you trying to seduce me? For shame!"

Rita blushed furiously and stalked away, no doubt preparing one of her infamous articles to his detriment. Harry jumped a bit when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the Durmstrang champion, Viktor Krum, smirking down at him.

"That was well done," the Slavic wizard intoned, "Although, at Durmstrang, _Marathon Man_ is more popular. I prefer _Tootsie_ myself."

Harry grinned back. "Thanks, Viktor."

The judges swept in, accompanied by Ollivander, the wizard who had sold him his original wand. Harry nodded at Professor Lippitt, who was representing the Academy today. All five sat at a wide table, while the Champions settled into less ornate chairs near the door.

Dumbledore stood. "For those of you that are unaware, this is Garrick Ollivander. He will be checking your wands to ensure they are in working order before the Tournament."

The next few minutes were fairly dull, as each Champion presented their wands, Ollivander showed off his wand-identifying skills, and cast a random charm to prove that they were, in fact, wands. Harry had to give Cedric points for sneaking in a "polishing his wand" gag during his speech, though. Harry had fond memories of the Gryffindor boys dorm trading crude wand jokes at bedtime. Nobody outside his year ever knew that shy little Neville usually came up with the best lines. But then again, few knew what the young wizard was packing, either. As Neville put it, "I inherited both of my father's wands."

Finally, it was Harry's turn, and he rose to his feet, pulling a purple wooden wand from his inside pocket and handing it over.

Ollivander's eyes widened. "This is not the wand I sold you, so many years ago. That was holly, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather. This is cedar, seven-and-a-half inches, and I cannot determine the core. Where is your wand, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged, "Back at the Academy, in my trunk. I haven't used it for months. And to answer your unspoken question, the wand has a clay and graphite core."

"Clay and graphite?" Ollivander responded, face puzzled. "This is a Muggle pencil?"

"Works for me." Harry shrugged, before smirking. "Well, go on... give it a wave!"

Ollivander frowned at him and waved the wand. " _Vinomenti_!"

A fountain of wine burst out, staining the tablecloth before him until he hastily canceled the charm.

"And that would be all four," Dumbledore announced, eyes twinkling madly. "Shall we proceed to dinner?"

"But what of the photos!" Bagman cried. Harry looked at Professor Lippitt, eyes pleading silently.

"One photo," she stated, "of all four Champions. That is all the Academy is willing to allow."

Grumbling, the wizard photographer from the _Prophet_ set up his camera. A short time later, Harry made to break free.

"Ah, Harry?" Dumbledore called, "You forgot to take back your wand."

Sheepishly, Harry walked over and picked it up from the wine-sodden table. "I keep losing these. Got a box of them back in my dorm."

The room fell quiet as he strode out, smiling at a job well done.

* * *

<< "Godzilla", Blue Öyster Cult >>

24 November 1994

The Quidditch Stadium  
Hogwarts, Scotland

Harry paced up and down the large tent, reviewing his plan in his head. Unlike his fellow Champions, he'd eschewed robes, preferring instead to wear the Academy dress uniform. If either of his plans worked, mobility would not be a concern. And if they'd failed... his outfit would be cinders anyway, so it wouldn't really matter.

"Harry!" Cedric whispered, motioning him over.

"I don't know how you found out about the Task," he continued, "But thanks for the owl. I owe you one."

Harry shrugged, "It was nothing, Cedric. They were spotted coming in. I guess those wizards never heard of radar."

Cedric looked blankly at him. Apparently, he hadn't heard of it either. "You did me a favor and you didn't have to. I will repay you. 'Puff's Promise!"

Harry made a note to ask Hermione what that meant as Barty Crouch entered alongside the other headmasters and the contingent from the _Daily Prophet_. Rita Skeeter scowled at him, which only deepened when he grinned back cheekily.

Crouch offered up a large sack to each contestant in turn. Harry was unsurprised to note that both Viktor Krum and the Beauxbatons champion showed little shock at the figurines within. Cedric threw him a grateful look as he drew his Swedish Short-Snout from the bag.

When his turn came, Harry once again drew on his immense dramatic talents:

"Oh wow. A dragon. What a shock," he stated flatly.

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Potter," Crouch continued, "Yours is a Hungarian Horntail. These represent four very real dragons, each protecting a golden egg that you must retrieve in order to proceed to the next Task. It will be impossible to move forward, otherwise."

He smiled, arms moving expansively as he played to the press. "You will each be called in the order you drew your dragons. Good luck, Champions all!" 

The next several moments were fraught with anxiety, as each champion awaited their turn. For his part, Harry chose to sit on a handy bed and tune the rest of the world out, connecting with the flow of magick as Mistress Kali had taught him. Hence, he barely sensed the florid commentary for the other contestants.

"... and final contestant, Harry Potter!" Dumbledore's voice resounded from outside the tent, breaking his reverie. He stepped outside to see that the stadium had been transfigured into a rocky lair, with far too many places for a large wyrm to hide. Not that a Horntail needed to, very often.

He strode forward, noting a surprising number of students cheering his name. He suspected the hand of the Weasley clan in this... Fred and George still tended to treat him as one of the family... and were probably making a killing taking bets.

He turned a corner, seeing the egg perched on the top of an outcrop of rock, but rather than moving forward, raised his head to the sky.

" _Le suilon, beleg lúg_!" he hissed.

A great form cast a shadow over him but stopped.

" _Och ennas. Och unaed. Och malad."_ Harry continued, turning to face the massive reptile. " _Cé gerin?"_

The great head lowered, and its jaws opened. " _Vá_!" it rumbled.

Harry shrugged. "Plan B, I guess."

He brushed the Academy logo on his blazer, and shouted, "Lucien! Door!"

A shining portal opened beneath the egg. A moment later, a similar portal deposited the egg neatly in his hands.

He tucked the egg under his left arm and threw the Horntail a jaunty salute. It reared back, snapping the chain that held it in place. 

" _Ni matuvan tyë, titta sairon!"_ it roared.

Harry held up one hand, and began to chant: _"Mornië pella undómë. Carnë pella sercë sirëa..."_

The Horntail froze, and lowered its head, allowing its handlers to rush in and restrain it.

"Well, that was fun," Harry remarked, tossing and catching the egg as he re-entered the tent. "Who wants Chinese?"

* * *

<< Don’t Turn Your Back, Blue Öyster Cult >>

A short while earlier

Hogwarts Castle  
Hogwarts, Scotland.

The Muggles were up to something. Percy was positive of it. He'd been waiting for Mr. Crouch to exit the tent so that they could make their way to the box when he saw the American headmaster, Mr. Combs, whisper something to his deputy and step away from the crowd. 

Percy cast a quick message charm to send a paper airplane to his superior and carefully followed the strange Yank into the school, ducking behind statues and doorways every time the Muggle paused. So focused was he on his quarry, he didn't notice the burly figure shadowing his steps.

Bit by bit they prowled the castle, finally making their way to the 7th floor, where the headmaster pulled an odd device from his robes and waved it at a seemingly blank wall opposite one of the oddest tapestries Percy had ever witnessed. Percy quickly hid behind some drapery as the Muggle began to curse.

"Where are you, you nasty little bugger," Combs muttered, "The signal is strongest here, but there's no. Freaking. Door!"

Percy held his breath, flattening against the wall as the man stalked by, muttering imprecations in what sounded like Gobbledygook. After a few moments of silence, he peeked out of the curtains to see that the corridor was clear.

He stepped free, only to freeze when he heard a cough behind him.

He whirled, and the infamous form of Auror Emeritus (and now Professor) Alastor Moody appeared before him in the ripple of a canceled Disillusionment charm. 

"Well done, boy," he growled, drawing his wand. "With an attitude like that, I can use you. But just to be certain..."

He waved his wand, and Percy's mind went blank.

<< "Sympathy For The Devil", The Rolling Stones >>

* * *

**Author's Note:**

In this chapter, the role of Parseltongue was played by Sindarin, while Draconic was Quenya. The translations are as follows:

Parseltongue:

 _Le suilon, beleg lúg!_ \- I greet you, great dragon!  
_Och ennas. Och unaed. Och malad._ \- There is egg. False egg. Gold egg.  
_Cé gerin?_ \- May I have it?

Draconic:

 _Vá!_ \- No!  
_Ni matuvan tyë, titta sairon!_ \- I will eat you, little wizard!  
_Mornië pella undómë. Carnë pella sercë sirëa..._ \- Darkness beyond twilight. Crimson beyond flowing blood...


	8. Taking the Plunge

<< "Starman", David Bowie >>

10 December 1994

The Cube™  
Hogwarts, Scotland

"Well, that went well." Sirius sighed, as he entered the quarters he shared with Harry, sinking next to him on the couch.

Harry looked up. "What happened, Pad?"

"The other judges unanimously decided that you should be awarded no points for the First Task," Sheila replied, as the door slid shut behind her. "They count using Lucien as outside help, even if he isn't technically alive. Plus, I think Dumbledore was annoyed that you didn't actually use any magic."

"He tried that 'disappointed grandfather' look of his, didn't he," Harry surmised. "I can see it now."

He tilted his head back, gazing down his nose as if through the Headmaster's ever-present spectacles.

"My dear boy. The Tournament is meant to show international cooperation. How can you bring the students closer together unless you can show off how superior you are?" he declaimed sorrowfully, shaking his head.

Sirius barked a quick laugh. "Not in so many words, but that was the gist of it. In any case, they are letting you keep the egg. Have you solved the clue yet?"

Harry glared at the offending ovoid, which lay innocently in the corner of the room. "Not yet. Right now, the only thing I know is that it can clear a room in seconds, and it gives me a headache."

"I'm sure you'll solve it, Harry," Sheila remarked kindly, sitting on Harry's other side. "I have every faith in you, and so does Siri."

"Thanks. I think Hermione is mad at me, though. I haven't seen her outside of class for days!"

"She'll come around, pup," Sirius said, placing an arm around his shoulder. "Eventually. Probably. Almost certainly in time for the Ball."

Harry blinked. "What Ball?"

"Oh yeah, they announced that too. There's apparently a traditional Yule Ball as part of the Tournament. Music, dancing, that sort of thing."

"Can't I get out of it?" Harry asked, a wild look in his eyes.

"I'm afraid not," Sheila replied, "The Champions are expected to attend."

"Don't worry, pup," Sirius interjected. "Just hit her with those eyes of yours and she'll forgive you."

Harry rolled his aforementioned eyes. "Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Pad. What about The Other Thing?"

Sirius scowled, "Combs scoured the school during the Task. He got a hit, but he can't figure out how to get to it."

"Huh. Do you think it could be another hidden room, like the Chamber?" Harry asked.

"That is a distinct possibility," Sheila chimed in, pausing as Dobby popped in with a light lunch. "We tracked it to a blank wall on the seventh floor."

Dobby bounced up and down, attracting their attention. "Dobby sorry, Master Dogfather's Bluesy. But was wall opposite a tapestry of trollses dancing?"

Sheila's eyes widened. "Yes, how did you know that?"

"Elvses be calling that the Come and Go Room. Ancient magic. Like Treksy hollydeck," the manic elf replied.

"Sirius!" Sheila shouted as the old animagus sprang to his feet.

"Already on it!" he replied. "Dobby, come with me! We have to talk to the headmaster!"

Harry watched him go, before turning to Sheila.

"C-c-an I ask you a big favor?" he stammered.

"Of course, Harry. Anything. What do you need?"

“T-t-teach me how to dance?”

* * *

<< "Magic Dance", David Bowie >>

25 December 1994

The Cube™  
Hogwarts, Scotland

Harry waited in the entry lounge apprehensively, fidgeting with his light-blue bowtie. True to his godfather's prediction, Hermione had agreed to be his escort to the Ball but had been sequestered in one of the labs with the rest of the girls all day. He assumed it had something to do with getting ready (an arcane process no man, wizard or mundane, truly understood) but he wasn't sure why they needed the Acoustics Lab to do it.

The door slid open, and he exhaled the breath he'd not realized he was holding, only to lose it again at the vision before him.

Hermione was dressed in robes of a diaphanous periwinkle-blue material, which wafted around her with each step, and had somehow wrangled her hair into a sleek knot behind her head. The sight was, quite literally, jaw-dropping.

"Mouth closed, Harry," Hermione remarked, smiling nervously. "You'll catch flies like that."

Harry's mouth snapped shut on reflex, before reopening as his brain slowly re-engaged.

"Wow, Hermione," he babbled, barely coherently. "You look... wow."

"Ladies & Gentlemen! The Boy-Who-Lived!" Sirius announced, as he and Sheila, clad in coordinating cobalt robes, entered the room.

Harry flushed, as the rest of the school trooped in behind him. Neville and Daphne wore formal wizarding robes of forest-green, although she carried herself better than the nervous-looking ex-Griffindor. Luna was radiant in silver, and Colin had chosen a rather dashing set of basic black robes, similar to what Master Combs usually wore, but with matching accents.

As for Tori and Dennis... Dennis was dressed in chocolate-brown open robes with a matching leather waistcoat, and Astoria looked much the same, although hers looked more like a corset, and her ubiquitous goggles held back her hair.

Harry shrugged. If anyone complained, Dennis and Astoria could handle themselves. The Castle might even survive.

Sirius clapped his hands and grinned. "Traditionally, I'm supposed to stall you and take dozens of photos, but since Harry and Hermione are opening the Dance with the other Champions, we don't want to be late."

They stepped out, walking across the grounds to the castle. Harry leaned over, whispering to Hermione. "You do look beautiful, Hermione. Well worth the wait."

Hermione pinked cutely. "Thanks, Harry, but that's not what took so long."

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small card. "Here. Put this in your pocket, and don't lose it."

"Why, what is it?" Harry asked quizzically.

"The solution to the Egg. Tori and I have been working on it all month." Hermione grinned. "We worked out this morning that the problem was the transmission medium. One frequency shift later, and eureka!"

"Beautiful and brilliant!" Harry whispered, leaning in for a kiss, only for her to poke him in the ribs.

"You forgot scary, Harry," she replied, softening her apparent ire with a smile. "It still took me an hour to get this look together, even with Daphne's help. And you are NOT going to mess it up before I get to rub it in the faces of our old classmates!"

"Yes dear," Harry replied cheekily. "What about afterward?"

"Reply hazy. Ask again later," she answered with a smirk. 

They stepped into the entrance hall, where the students of the other schools had gathered. Harry felt Hermione preen beside him at the glares of some of the other students.

"I never knew you were so shallow, Miss Granger," he whispered teasingly.

"I'll have you know I have unplumbed depths, Mr. Potter," she replied. "And if you don't behave, you'll never get to plumb them."

"Shutting up now!" he announced, miming zipping his mouth shut.

"Good boy," she replied. "But now, it's showtime!"

"Would the Champions come this way?" McGonagall called, resplendent in robes of red tartan, "You'll be waiting here by the doors while the other students enter, and then enter in procession!"

He led Hermione aside, as the other Champions stepped free from the throng. Cedric was escorting Cho Chang - Harry remembered they'd been dating for a while - and had somehow managed to coordinate Hufflepuff yellow with Ravenclaw bronze. Fleur was resplendent as always in grey satin, while her escort, Roger Davies, basically looked poleaxed.

And Viktor... Harry's eyes narrowed at the diminutive figure of Ginny Weasley beside him, almost dwarfed by his massive bulk. Harry beckoned him over with a glance.

"You and Ginny?" he whispered.

Viktor bobbed his head. "Da. We meet while I was in library. Talk quidditch. She is less annoying than her brother."

"She's like a sister to me too." Harry intoned. "I wouldn't be happy to hear she was being strung along."

Viktor shook his head. "We are just friends. She said she is not into hero worship. Not like Ron."

"That's fine. I'm surprised he didn't ask you himself." Harry grinned.

"I would have said no. Obsession aside, he is not type I like."

Harry's eyes widened. "You might not want to spread that around. Especially near the press."

"People at Durmstrang know," Viktor shrugged. "Nobody cares there. More important things to worry about."

"Champions!" McGonagall cried, "Please follow me!"

They stepped into the Great Hall to the applause of the gathered students and walked across the frost-covered room to a large round table where the judges already sat. Harry noted that the large House tables had been replaced with about a hundred smaller ones. He blinked when he saw Ron Weasley in burgundy robes, sitting next to a beaming Susan Bones.

Dumbledore smiled from where he sat with the other headmasters, most of whom were applauding politely, save for a scowling Igor Karkaroff, and a bizarrely jubilant Ludo Bagman. Beside Bagman, Percy Weasley sat with somewhat of a glazed look on his face.

Harry sat in the open seat beside him. "Everything OK, Percy?"

"Just fine, Potter," Percy stated flatly. "I'm representing the Ministry today, as Mr. Crouch's assistant, and must do as I was ordered."

Harry shrugged. Politics still bored him.

After scanning their menus, the table ordered their dinners. The following meal was punctuated by small talk too trivial to pay close attention to, so Harry diverted himself by reviewing steps in his head.

When all the food had been eaten (surprisingly politely Ron's case), Dumbledore stood, motioning the gathering to do likewise, and with a wave of his wand cleared the dance floor. A small stage appeared on the right wall, and the Weird Sisters took up their instruments.

Harry swallowed. This might just be the biggest challenge of his life.

He took Hermione's hand and stepped out onto the dance floor, moving into position for a slow, rather mournful waltz. The dance was completed without mishap, although he was pretty sure he lost count at one or two points. Still, Hermione felt right in his arms, and that was nice.

The band picked up the pace with a faster tune, but Harry's knees shook, so with her slight nod, he led her over to where Ron and Susan were sitting, although he had to make something of a wide berth around the twins and their dates, who were in danger of wiping out the whole crowd.

Ron stood at their approach, embracing Harry in a fierce hug. "Good to see you, mate! Been too long! Here! Have a seat!"

Harry bowed politely at the Bones heir and sank gratefully into the offered seat.

"So, you and Susan?" he remarked, nodding at the svelte redhead.

"Yeah. We started going out after the First Task. She was with her aunt when they made arrangements with Charlie to get the dragons back to Romania. We started talking and... well. You and Hermione?"

Harry nodded. "I think we always were, and just couldn't see it."

"I could have told you that, mate!" Ron grinned, clapping his shoulder. "The twins were planning on running a book last year on when you would get together, but you didn't come back. Pity. I was all set to make a bundle!"

"Prat!" Harry smiled in return. "I talked with Viktor earlier. You all right with him and Ginny?"

"Yeah, I am," Ron replied, face serious. "She's been lonely this year and hasn't made a lot of friends. This will be fun for her, and just might raise her profile a bit in the dorms."

"That's very mature of you, Ron," Hermione chimed in from where she sat with Susan.

Ron smirked, "Thanks, Hermione. I've been working on it. "

"I have a very special incentive program," Susan interjected. "Ron's been quite assiduous in his studies."

Harry laughed. Despite all that happened, his friends were still his friends. Life was good.

A shadow fell over their table.

"Scarhead, the Mudblood, and the Weasel. The Tarnished Trio, together again!"

Harry looked up at the unwelcome (if not entirely unexpected) sneer of Draco Malfoy, who was dressed in solid black robes that made him look oddly like a vicar. No member of the CoE would ever spew the bile that poured from his mouth, however.

"Speechless, Potter?" Draco mocked. "I'm not surprised. You're a disgrace to wizarding. You didn't even cast a spell at the First Task." 

Harry just stared at him.

"Have you forgotten how to do proper magic already? You should get together with that squib Longbottom. Maybe then you'd have enough magic to cast a weak _Lumos_."

Harry yawned.

"Say something, you bloody idiot! Have you gone dumb?" Draco screamed.

"Would you like a drink, Hermione?" Harry asked, turning away from the Malfoy scion, who was beginning to froth at the mouth a bit.

"Don't you dare ignore me! The best part of you ran down your mudblood tramp of a mother's thigh!"

"Mister Malfoy!" a familiar voice snarled. "200 points from Slytherin, one month of detention at the start of the new term, and you are hereby barred from the remainder of the Ball."

Draco paled, "B-but Professor Snape."

"Leave. Now. Or would you like it to make it 500 points?" Snape hissed.

"This is your fault, Potter!" Draco whined, whipping his wand from his sleeve. " _Percutio!"_

The piercing hex flew across the room, only to splash against an unexpected golden shield.

"Got your back, Harry!" Cedric called from across the room, wand twirling in his right hand.

"Mister Malfoy!" Dumbledore roared. "You will leave this Ball now. It remains to be seen if you will be returning to the school next term!"

"You can't!" Draco whined as Snape dragged him away by the arm, a white-faced Pansy Parkinson trailing behind. "Wait until my fa-"

The door slammed shut, cutting short his tediously expected reply. Harry leaned back, sipping a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"It's good to be back..."

* * *

<< "Underground", David Bowie >>

24 February 1995

The Shores of the Black Lake   
Hogwarts, Scotland

Winter in Scotland was just too bloody cold, Harry decided, as he walked across the grounds to the location of the Second Task. He'd rather have stayed in bed, or at least cuddling on the couch with Hermione, but he hadn't even seen her this morning. That being said, he was grateful for the anorak Sirius and Sheila had gotten him for Christmas, even if Colin said it made him look like a trainspotter.

He and Dennis had taken to calling him "Trains" for the last two months. Harry would have his revenge eventually. It would be slow. It would be painful. And if all went according to plan, it would be WET.

Yes, revenge would be sweet, but it would have to wait. First, he would have to rescue whatever the daft morons behind the Tournament had hidden in the lake. He wished he could talk to Sirius about it, but his godfather was taking advantage of the Task to check out that "come and go room" with Dobby. 

No Hermione. No Padfoot. A grey and dreary day that was made for the Scots word _dreich_. Harry was definitely feeling down.

"There you are, Potter!" a rough voice called. Harry turned to face the current DADA professor, a scarred man named Moody.

"Can I help you, Professor?" Harry asked politely, as the lumpy professor stumped beside him.

"You should know that the Lake has been specially warded against those doors of yours, by the request of the judges. You won't be able to play the same trick again."

Harry nodded, "I figured they would do something like that."

"You aren't dressed for swimming, though, unless you've got a swimming costume under that coat of yours." Moody's artificial eye whirred. "And I can see you don't."

Harry smirked at him. "Checking out students underclothes? Whatever would Dumbledore say?"

Moody smiled back, an expression even more frightening than his customary scowl. "Good. You're smart. You'll need it with what is coming. The Dark Lord eats stupid wizards for breakfast."

"Well, thank you for the frankly disturbing image, Professor," Harry replied, picking up the pace.

"Good luck, Potter," Moody called after him. "You'll need it!"

Harry made it to the Lake without further interruption. As Moody had hinted, the other champions were dressed in old-fashioned swimwear. Save for the always-stunning Ms. Delacour, they looked a bit ridiculous. Fit, but ridiculous.

Ludo Bagman moved among them, spacing them about 10 feet apart, with Harry at the very end, next to Viktor Krum.

He bent to whisper in Harry's ear. "So... got any ideas how you're going to get your hostage yet?"

Harry blinked. "Hostage?"

"Didn't you work out the clue?" Bagman answered worriedly. "Someone has been taken from each Champion, and will need to be rescued."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Hermione."

"I can't confirm that," Bagman replied gruffly. "I can't play favorites. But I have a lot riding on you."

He stood up, taking a nip of brandy against the chill. "Good luck, boy."

Harry's mind whirled, and he fidgeted with his Academy badge beneath his coat, murmuring a plan. He then straightened, as Bagman's voice resounded over the crowd.

"The Second Task will start at my whistle. Each Champion will have an hour to recover what has been taken. On the count of three. One. Two. THREE!"

The other champions dove into the Lake. Harry simply stood there, to the jeers of the Slytherin contingent (sadly, including Malfoy, who had used the excuse of spiked pumpkin juice to avoid expulsion. The fact that he had not actually drunk any of it had escaped everyone's notice.)

Harry waited until a quiet chirp sounded from under his coat. He tapped his badge and raised his arm in what he hoped was a dramatic gesture.

"TB2!" he cried. "MAKE IT SO!"

He chopped his hand down, and a thunderous noise roared as a sudden wind swept the surface of the lake. There was a ripple in the air, as the massive form of the Academy transport appeared over the lake. Great doors opened, emitting a shaft of light that plunged into the depths of the Lake.

As the crowd watched, the surface of the lake churned, and a crude statue of a merperson rose to the surface, four soggy forms chained to its tail. Mermen dove off as it lifted above the surface, and drifted to where Harry stood waiting. It settled on the shore, as the ship hovered overhead.

Without much ceremony, he walked over to where Hermione hung and untied her. Beside her, Ginny, Cho, and a young blond girl in Beauxbatons robes opened their eyes and stared.

"You all right there, Hermione?" he asked solicitously.

"Never better, Harry," she replied, favoring him with a kiss on the cheek. "I need to get to a pad, though. Before they put us to sleep, I was able to get a close look at the Mer village, and I want to record my observations."

"Never change, Hermione," Harry replied, hugging her.

"Mister Potter!" Dumbledore shouted. "What is the meaning of this?"

Harry shrugged. "You took Hermione. I took her back. Every Academy student has a tracker put on them as a matter of course. Pretty trivial, really. Rescuing the others was just a fortunate side effect."

"You were supposed to go INTO the Lake!" he spluttered.

"That's not what I heard. Anyway, what's done is done." Harry replied.

He watched as the other Champions climbed from the lake. "Sorry, guys. Do you want me to put them back?"

Fleur rushed past and hugged the small girl, murmuring something like "my sir!" Cedric grinned, and Viktor shook his head, "Task is over. No challenge now." 

"Can we go inside?" Ginny asked, teeth chattering "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm bloody freezing!"

"One moment," Dumbledore interrupted. "Mister Potter, the judges will convene to discuss the mockery you've made of this Task. But I must insist the statue be returned to the lake where it was found, as it is an important Mer artifact."

"Should have thought of that before you used it in the Task, you whiskered wanker." Harry mumbled.

"What is that?"

"Nothing, Professor!" Harry replied cheerily. "I'll put it right back."

"WAIT!" a voice cried from the crowd. Harry turned to see Luna run onto the shore, clad in a Muggle wetsuit. She climbed onto the shoulder of the statue, grabbing a lock of hair. "Okay... NOW!"

The statue rose into the air, accompanied by the sound of a loud "Wheee!!!"

* * *

<< "Heroes", David Bowie >>

10 March 1995

The Cube™  
Hogwarts, Scotland.

"You wanted to see me, Master Combs?" Harry inquired, stepping into the office.

"Yes, Harry. I just wanted to go over the latest with you. I assume you have seen what they have done with the Quidditch pitch?"

Harry nodded, scratching his right wrist idly. "Yeah. If I didn't know how easy these things are to undo, I'd probably be as mad as Ron."

Combs looked at his arm. "Still itch, do they? It'll pass, eventually."

"Still better than Skele-grow." Harry shrugged. "Be glad you never had to take it, sir."

"The bio-sculpt tank isn't much better," Combs replied with a thin smile. "You can ask Remus about that. Anyway, to make a long story short..."

"Too late," Harry replied, a half-second behind the Headmaster.

"As you may have guessed, the final task is a living hedge maze, filled with traps and monsters and the like," Combs continued. "Fun for the whole family."

"The judges have added a ward on top of the existing ones, so you can't just pluck the prize from the center with TB2. You're actually going to have to go into it this time."

"Not a problem," Harry grinned. "All I need is one item from the armory. And a waistcoat."

Combs blinked, and then grinned boyishly. "Well done. I'll pretend I didn't hear that in case the other judges ask. There is one other thing I want to give you, however, for AFTER the Task."

"Oh?" Harry asked. "What is it?"

"This," Combs replied, pulling a black case from a drawer. He tapped the lid and it opened with a burst of multicolored light.

Harry's jaw dropped. "I'm not ready."

"They think you are," Combs replied, "And they are never wrong. With what is coming, you'll need all the help you can get."

<< "Worsel", Akira Inoue >>


	9. No More Games

<< "Left Foot Trapped in a Sensual Seduction", Yasushi Ishii >>

24 June 1995

The Quidditch Pitch  
Hogwarts, Scotland

Percy Weasley looked out blankly over the site of the third and final task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Despite the hubbub around him, he remained unnaturally composed, not even flinching when a hand clapped his shoulder.

"There you are, Weasley!" Ludo Bagman cried, smiling widely. "All set for today's events, I trust?"

"Yes, Mister Bagman," Percy stated flatly. "I'm representing the Ministry today, as Mr. Crouch's assistant, and must do as I was ordered."

"Excellent! Excellent!" Bagman beamed. "That's just what I wanted to hear. Big day today, after all."

Percy did not deign to reply as the assembled Champions made their way onto the pitch. Most were dressed as they had for the First Task, although Harry had swapped his jumper for an old-fashioned waistcoat, complete with fob chain.

Harry looked over at his fellow Champions, who were no doubt wondering what he had planned, since the news of the additional wards had been leaked to the _Prophet_ just before the Easter holidays, leading to some pointed letters from the Academy solicitors, but no appreciable fallout. No matter, really. He was pretty sure that no-one outside of the school was even aware of the bit of kit that he'd borrowed for the day.

Bagman's voice echoed over the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen! The third and final task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament is about to begin!"

He paused for the cheering and applause to die down. "The points stand as follows: In first place with eighty-five points, representing Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory!"

The crowd roared in appreciation, shaking the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

"In second place with eighty points, from Durmstrang, Viktor Krum!"

Gruff voices began chanting and stomping their feet. "Krum! Krum! Krum!"

"In third place with sixty points, the Beauxbatons Champion, Fleur Delacour!"

The resulting whistling was slightly less boisterous but clearly enthusiastic.

Bagman shrugged. "And in last place, with no points whatsoever, Harry Potter."

He paused as if listened to someone. "Oh yes, from St. Lucien's Academy."

Only two voices outside of the small Academy contingent cheered, but as they were the Weasley twins, it made for quite a noise. 

Bagman continued. "The champions will enter in the same order. Mr. Diggory, on my whistle: Three... two... one... GO!"

Cedric dashed in, his wand at the ready. Five minutes later, Viktor followed, with Fleur five minutes after that. Harry shrugged, and pulled an old-fashioned pocket-watch from his waistcoat, flipping open the case to watch the second hand sweep.

"On my mark, Mister Potter!" Bagman called. "Three! Two! One! GO!"

Harry twisted the knob of the watch sharply, grinning as the world turned red. He strolled into the maze, carefully peering around each corner as he slowly made his way to the center, pausing only occasionally when he met a fellow Champion to verify that they were not in any immediate peril. He stopped before the frozen shape of a sphinx, wondering if it was worth risking the challenge, before shrugging and stepping gingerly around its form.

" ** _How disappointing_** " a voice echoed in his mind. " ** _Maybe next time, young one._** "

He blinked, and moved on, dodging one last challenge - one of Hagrid's acromantulas - and stepping into the center of the maze, where the Triwizard Cup sat on a stone plinth. He gazed at it, noting the telltale signs of a portkey spell, and pressed the button on the watch, snapping back to normal time. 

"Here we go," he murmured, taking a deep breath before reaching out to the Cup.

The familiar fishhook sensation pulled at his navel as he was swept away.

<< "Ready to Die", Andrew W.K. >>

24 June 1995

The Riddle Family Graveyard,  
Little Hangleton, England

Harry crashed to the ground, the sudden shock making his knees buckle. As he stood to his feet, he heard a rustling sound and saw a slim figure in black robes approach. His eyes narrowed.

There was a burst of light. Before Harry could blink the spots from his eyes, he felt the short figure drag him to a large headstone, binding him to it with conjured ropes. The hooded figure stepped back and lowered its hood, revealing the smirking face of Peter Pettigrew, although he'd apparently gotten a makeover somewhere. Rather than a cowering wreck of a man, Pettigrew looked dangerous. Too dangerous.

But not as dangerous as the shape beside him, a large snake with familiar red eyes.

"Harry Potter," the serpent hissed, "How wonderful to see you again."

Harry pulled against the ropes. "Hello, Tom. Thank you for having me. Love the new look. Very snaky."

"Ah, that famous Potter bravado, so much like your father's." Voldemort replied sibilantly, "Excellent. Such courage will serve me well."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can't expect me to switch sides now. Leaving aside the whole 'killed my parents' thing, I'm just not the Dark Magic type."

"You aren't much for magic at all these days," Voldemort retorted, "Or so my spy at Hogwarts has told me. Oh yes, I know all about the Muggle school you are attending. But you will still serve me. Peter! Explain to our guest what his fate will be."

Pettigrew stepped away from a large stone cauldron that sat nearby and drew a nasty-looking dagger. "When you defeated the Dark Lord your first year, you made it impossible for him to use the Philosopher's Stone to regain his body. But there were always alternate plans, and one of them, an old Dark ritual, is why you are here today. It requires three ingredients."

"The bone of the father," Voldemort hissed. "Which is why we are here, in this forsaken place, where his Muggle bones are buried."

"The flesh of the servant, which I will be happy to provide," Pettigrew said proudly.

"And the blood of the foe," Voldemort concluded. "And I knew no foe would be as potent as you, Harry Potter. When Dumbledore's machinations brought you back, I began my plans, thanks to my two most faithful servants. And now you are here, before me, to witness my rebirth!"

The snake coiled around the cauldron, being careful not to touch the flames. Pettigrew began to chant, "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

Harry blinked as the ground before him split open, and a curl of dust rose from the earth to plunge into the cauldron.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given!" The knife flashed out, severing Pettigrew's left pinkie finger, "You will revive your master!"

Ignoring his bleeding hand, Pettigrew stalked over to where Harry stood, slashing at his right sleeve, revealing the black material beneath. 

"Pettigrew!" Voldemort hissed. "Complete the ritual!"

Pettigrew blanched. "I cannot. He is wearing some kind of armor my knife cannot penetrate!"

"Fool! His head is uncovered!" Voldemort replied, raising the snake's head. "Reacquaint him with an old friend."

Pettigrew stopped for a moment, before smiling maliciously. "Of course, my Lord. Most fitting!"

Harry cried out as the knife carved into his forehead, three times. Blood dripped into his eyes as he heard Pettigrew continue.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken... YOU WILL RESURRECT YOUR FOE!" he cried.

There was a painfully bright white light, and Harry was forced to close his eyes from the pain. Moments later, he heard a high cold voice that still haunted his nightmares occasionally.

"Robe me!" Lord Voldemort commanded.

Harry's eyes cleared, and he saw Voldemort pressing a bone-white wand into Pettigrew's arm. Moments later, the air was filled with the pops of Apparition, as a dozen or so cloaked figures stepped into the light where their master stood.

"Welcome, my friends." Voldemort whispered, "It has been thirteen long years since we last stood together."

His eyes flashed crimson, "Thirteen long years where you thrived as 'respectable' wizards while I suffered as less than a ghost."

The assembled Death Eaters flinched as one, stepping back by reflex.

"But we will discuss that later. First, you will bear witness to my final defeat of the so-called Boy-Who-Lived, who by his death will ensure the reign of Lord Voldemort will last forever!"

He turned to Peter Pettigrew, who had wrapped a black cloth around his hand. "Peter, my loyal friend. Free him so that I may chastise him properly."

Pettigrew strode over, dispersing the robes with a casual _Finite_ and dragging Harry to his feet.

"I wanted to duel you like a proper wizard, Harry Potter," Voldemort mused, "But you aren't even that anymore. Do you have any final words before I send you to join your parents?"

Harry grinned. "You have NO idea how long I've waited for you to say that, Tommy-boy!"

He brushed the dirt off his coat, paying close attention to the school badge.

"I have two words for you," Harry took a deep breath.

"Lucien! DOORS!"

<< "Party Party Party", Andrew W.K. >>

A quintet of Doors opened, disgorging Harry's fellow students. Hermione, Neville, Luna, Colin & Daphne each carried a small casket, and quickly took positions around the gravesite.

"I am disappointed with you, Harry Potter," Voldemort proclaimed, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "I thought you would at least have the courage to face me alone."

"Actually, Tom, that's exactly why they are here," Harry replied, "Ready!"

The five young students kneeled, placing the caskets before them on the ground, before reaching down to touch the earth with their left hands.

Harry raised this right arm across his chest, letting the rags of his sleeve fall free. Moments later, the sable armor on said limb retracted, revealing a glowing pattern on his skin.

"You were almost right, Tommy," he remarked, as the lines grew brighter at his mental urging. "I'm not a proper wizard. But I DO have magic."

"NOW!" he cried, sweeping out his arm and releasing a swath of energy that blasted almost all the assembled Death Eaters off into the darkness. Only Voldemort stood, although he stumbled a bit, while Pettigrew transformed into Wormtail and scampered off.

Before the Death Eaters could recover, the five students began a slow chant. Golden lines of energy crisscrossed the graveyard, connecting each to each, generating a large pentacle of golden light. As the pattern completed, the energies leaped into the sky, creating a large dome that sealed them from the outside world.

"Now we can talk in private," Harry remarked.

Outside the dome, Lucius Malfoy was the first to recover, drawing his wand to fire curses at the offending barrier. So intent was he on his work that he almost missed the quiet whirring in the air behind him. But notice he did, only to blanch at the black-armored figure that settled to the ground before him, dark metal wings folding over its shoulders.

One massive fist lashed out, knocking his wand free of his grip before it reached out and grabbed him by the front of his robes. He felt himself lifted into the air, looking down at the horned helmet of his attacker. Said helmet retracted, revealing a bearded red-haired face with a nasty grin on his face.

"Malfoy, right?" the stranger snarled. "Witness the full might of the _Otaku_..."

The stranger tossed him into the side of a stone crypt, and Malfoy felt something go *crunch* as he landed.

"FIRST HAND!" 

His compatriots were not doing much better. 

Avery found himself being chased by a large grim, who periodically transformed into a laughing wizard casting dark curses he'd only heard rumors of before.

Walden MacNair was pinned down by a small boy who swooped through the air like a maniac, shouting imprecations in Gobbledygook. 

Crabbe and Goyle cowered behind a large statue as a young witch laughed at them maniacally while casting bright curses from a large wand that looked like the bastard offspring of a telescope and a trombone.

Other Death Eaters were luckier, and were taken out of the fight early, either by armored figures that emerged from glowing Doors or spells cast by a glowing witch who hovered in the night like fire and life incarnate.

Pettigrew, on the other hand, managed to avoid notice at first. As Wormtail, he scampered among the tombstones, dodging and weaving until he was free of the conflict. Silver moonlight broke from the clouds as he crossed a wide clearing, well away from the battle.

A large barred owl swooped from the sky, grasping it in its talons. Wormtail made to transform and break free until the owl beat him to it.

"Hello Peter," Remus Lupin said pleasantly. "Sirius and I have a lot to talk about with you."

Meanwhile, back under the dome, Voldemort had to admit he was impressed. "Well DONE, Harry! Hiding your skills until after the tasks was almost Slytherin of you! "

"I assume now you wish to test your new magic against mine?" he continued, "I must confess to a certain curiosity."

"Not exactly, " Harry replied, "I'm not here to fight you, Tom Marvolo Riddle. I'm here to help you."

Voldemort blinked, an oddly eerie effect on his snakelike features, "You mean to join me after all?"

"No," Harry stated. "First, I want to reunite you with some old friends..."

Luna reached out with her free hand, opening her casket to release a black mist.

"The Gaunt ring!" Harry cried.

Colin performed the same action, releasing a similar mist.

"The Slytherin locket!" Harry continued.

Daphne followed suit.

"The cup of Helga Hufflepuff!"

Neville did the same.

"The Ravenclaw Diadem!"

Hermione opened her casket, closing the circle.

"And finally, that little gift you left in my head when you slaughtered my parents, you snake-faced bastard!" Harry growled. The five misty forms screamed as they swooped around the dome, painfully impacting against the golden barrier.

Voldemort stepped back, raising his wand. "No! You can't have found them! Not all of them!"

"I can and I did," Harry responded, stalking forward, "With help from my friends. But you never had friends, did you Tom..."

" _Avada Kedavra_!" Voldemort cried, only for his eyes to widen as the curse splashed against Harry's chest, shredding his clothes, only to be absorbed as violet lines of energy in the black armor beneath. Harry strode closer.

" _Percutio!_ _Depulso! Riddikulus!_ " Voldemort continued, each spell adding more glowing lines to the mix. He finally stopped as Harry stood before him, emerald eyes glowing slightly in the night.

"You win, Harry Potter," Voldemort sighed, as Harry plucked the wand from his hand. "Kill me and take your vengeance."

"I'm not here for revenge, Tom," Harry replied, "I'm here to heal you."

He reached up with his left hand, and the surface of the armor on his left wrist peeled back, revealing a lenticular polychrome of writhing, almost fluid radiance. Voldemort froze.

"Before the Omnipotent Witness," Harry recited, "and for the benefit of Civilization, I call upon the powers of my mind to unite the soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Harry's eyes shone with a burst of emerald light as the swirling clouds were drawn, slowly, inexorably, to the figure before him. As each merged with him, he jerked as if struck. Each impact made him look more human, but also markedly older.

When the final fragment had vanished, Harry looked at the stooped old man before him. He closed his eyes, projecting his will. 

" _ **Are you here, Tom?**_ "

Harry found himself in what looked like King's Cross Station, standing before a scared-looking boy dressed in an old-fashioned Hogwarts uniform. The boy looked up. 

" _ **I'm Tommy. Tommy Riddle. Are you here to take me back to the orphanage?**_ "

Harry looked down at him kindly. " _ **No, Tommy. I'm here to set you free."**_

" _ **Will it hurt?**_ " the boy asked, lip quivering.

" _ **No**_ ," Harry replied, " _ **It's just like going to sleep**_."

" _ **Oh**_ , _**okay,**_ " Tommy replied. " _ **That's not too bad, then**_."

Harry raised his hand, noticing that the Lens had followed him here.

" _ **Good night, Tommy,**_ " he murmured, as the boy dissolved into sparkles of light. He knew, somehow, that Voldemort's new body back in the real world was doing the same. He opened his eyes, only to be knocked over by a bushy-haired missile who had wrapped him in a hug.

"Is it over?" Hermione asked, healing his forehead with a swipe of her hand.

Harry nodded, "Almost. Just one more move to play."

<< "World Without Logos", Yasushi Ishii >>

24 June 1995

The Quidditch Pitch  
Hogwarts, Scotland

The crowd stared as Harry vanished, only to gasp in shock as the hedge maze dissolved almost immediately thereafter.

A short moment later, Severus Snape grasped his left arm. "Headmaster!" he cried.

Dumbledore looked at him sharply, only to receive a quick nod in return. He leaped to his feet, but whatever instructions he planned to give died on his lips as the gathered students of St. Lucien's stood as one, summoning Doors.

He whirled to face Headmaster Combs, who was idly chewing on some Muggle sweet. "What is going on here, Headmaster Combs?"

"Endgame," Combs replied. "It won't be long now. Would you like a jelly baby?"

Dumbledore almost reached for the white bag on reflex before catching himself. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see," Combs replied inscrutably. Dumbledore noticed his eyes twinkled in a familiar, and hence insulting, way.

A short while later, Doors opened across the pitch, and the students returned, accompanied by a few adults and a squad of armed figures led by a large bearded man in quite frightening black armor.

Said figure strode across the pitch, stopping before Combs. "Hey, DC."

"Hey Cor. All done?" Combs replied, tucking away the bag.

"Yep," the figure, apparently named Cor, replied. "The kid did great. And we even have some prisoners for Bones to chat up."

"She'll like that, I think," Combs replied. "If they don't talk, we'll set Ragnok on them. Or maybe Wolf."

"But what of the Dark Lord?" Ludo Bagman interrupted, "Did he escape?"

"Now isn't that an odd question," Combs drawled. "One might think you had an interest."

He jerked one hand, and a flask ripped free from Bagman's robes, landing in his hand. He took a quick sniff, before tossing it at Dumbledore. Dumbledore followed suit, barely noticing Combs casting a wandless spell at the former sportsman.

"Polyjuice?" he murmured, "But who?"

Bagman laughed, leaping from the stands. His curly hair shortened and dulled as his face rippled.

"Barty Crouch, Junior?" Dumbledore cried. "But how?"

"You'll never know, old man!" Crouch replied, licking his lips with a slithering tongue. "Nor will you live to see the dawn! Weasley! Kill this fool!"

Glassy-eyed, Percy Weasley stood and drew his wand, only to cast a passable stunner at the shocked Death Eater.

Alastor Moody appeared in the judges' box from a ripple of air. 

"Little known fact," he snarled, "You can't cast Imperio on someone who is ALREADY under the Imperius. Well done, lad!"

Percy blinked, eyes clearing, before nodding at the grizzled ex-Auror. "Thank you, sir, I was happy to help."

Moody dragged Crouch away as Harry entered the box.

"Can we GO now?" he whined, a slight smile on his face. 

Combs shrugged. "Might as well. The Aurors can do the cleaning up."

"Excuse me?" Percy asked, "But who actually won? I don't see the Cup anywhere."

"Oh, I left it in a graveyard somewhere. I'm sure someone will bring it back eventually." Harry replied.

Dumbledore blinked once. Then again. And again. Finally, he turned to Harry, eyes on full twinkle.

"Well done, my boy! While I must confess your methods were not what I expected, you have saved the wizarding world anew! Congratulations on a job well done!"

Harry stared at him, mouth gaping, before breaking out in loud laughter. He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath, holding up one hand in supplication. Finally, he regained his composure, staring directly at Dumbledore with bright green eyes 

"Done? My work isn’t done, Headmaster…. it’s only beginning!”

<< “This is War”, Thirty Seconds To Mars >>

* * *

THE END  
of  
HARRY POTTER AND THE UNEXPECTED PUBLIC SCHOOL

* * * * *

HARRY POTTER WILL RETURN  
in  
HARRY POTTER AND THE OCCULT REVOLUTION


	10. Afterword and Omakes

AFTERWORD

I have two confessions to make:

The first is that this fanfic is not only a rather over-the-top alternate take on the Wizarding World confronted with an Outside Context Problem (© the late Iain M. Banks), but it is also a crossover. Specifically, it's a crossover with a decades-old story called _Otaku Rising_ , available at your favorite vintage anime fanfic archive.

The other confession is that the reason why I crossed over with that story to begin with is that I helped write it. While the HP fanfic world knows me as The Plot Mechanic, twenty-five years ago I went by another name:

DigiCom.

This story is an idea I toyed with for years before taking the plunge and actually writing it down. The basic premise was simple: What if Harry used futuristic technology to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament?

Every piece of technology used in this tale either came directly or can be extrapolated from technology used in the original _OR_ stories, from the Lens of Arisia to Thunderbird 2. Some of it was updated to a more modern form, others managed to stay mostly the same.

Thanks to all who commented and liked, especially the gang at Caer Azkaban. Special thanks go to the writers twistyguru and Polydicta, whose stories "Harry Potter and the Alternative Tournament" and "The Goblet and The Bag" (respectively) strongly informed my approach to this tale.

And an extra-special thank you goes to my old partner-in-prose The Corinthian and his son, the madman with wings, for support both editorial and emotional.

* * *

OMAKES

Inspired by Polydicta:

"Hey, Hermione, I can see your house from up here ..."

Harry looked out the window at the blue-white expanse hanging before him in the blackness.

"Hey, Hermione! I can see your house from up here!"

Hermione glared at him. "Honestly Harry, that's impossible! There's no way you can see my house!"

Harry grinned lopsidedly. "I can see EVERYONE'S house. I just can't tell which one is yours."

Eventually, Hermione stopped hitting him.

Suggested by David Meier:

_I would rather he be removed from the tournament entirely. How about breaking his contract in a sci-fi manner?_

"And our final champion, representing St. Lucien's Academy is.… ah…" Dumbledore blinked, before continuing, "Harry Potter."

Harry stood, striding over to Dumbledore. "I have to compete, right?"

"Indeed, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "The contract with the Goblet is magically binding."

"That's what I thought."

Harry reached inside his coat and pulled out a stubby-looking metal wand. Spinning on one leg, he thumbed a sliding switch near one end, causing the wand to emit a bright blade of light with an audible *snap-hiss*. As he continued his spin, the blade slashed through the Goblet, cleaving it in two horizontally.

Harry disabled the blade with a flourish, tucking the wand back in his robes.

"No Goblet, no contract. Can we go home now?"

Suggested by Karen Lewellen: _  
_

_Although I still feel there is a funny story in the making involving a UPS delivery worker and Harry._

Harry Potter and the UPS.

As Dumbledore left the infant Harry Potter on the doorstep of 4 Privet Drive, he failed to notice the brown truck rolling up the Drive from the other direction. The driver, clad in a similar shade, could not fail to notice the basket as he delivered his package from a certain leather-goods store in Chelsea.

"You look cold, little guy. I think I'll take you home to the wife, get some food in you before we call Child Services."

Ten years later, when Harry Brown entered Hogwarts, he not only knew of magic (how else could they deliver that fast?) but was also the youngest person ever to successfully pull off a reverse bootlegger turn in a delivery truck.

Requested by Marius:

_Oh sweet mother of Chaos, use the Exoframes!_

The other champions dove into the Lake. Harry simply stood there, to the jeers of the Slytherin contingent (sadly, including Malfoy, who had used the excuse of spiked pumpkin juice to avoid expulsion. The fact that he had not actually drunk any of it had escaped everyone's notice.)

Finally, he tapped his badge, spread his legs wide apart, and raised his arms in a matching V shape, shouting a command to the skies.

"Powerrr... EXTREME!!!"

* * *

  
That's it for now, folks. See you next tale! 


End file.
